


It Starts With A Fire

by ironfamjam



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: 3 pivotal moments that change their relationship, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Slow Burn, The co-parenting trope is real, and they were roomates, listen ok they're just BEST FRIENDS who realize they're in LOVE okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfamjam/pseuds/ironfamjam
Summary: When Ressler’s apartment burns down, Liz insists there’s nowhere for him to go but her place- at least until he gets back on his feet. Turns out though, for all the million reasons there is to leave, he's just waiting for one to stay.Or, a love story in three parts.
Relationships: Agnes Keen & Donald Ressler, Agnes Keen & Elizabeth Keen, Aram Mojtabai & Donald Ressler, Aram Mojtabai/Samar Navabi, Elizabeth Keen & Aram Mojtabai, Elizabeth Keen & Donald Ressler, Elizabeth Keen & Raymond Reddington, Elizabeth Keen & Samar Navabi, Elizabeth Keen/Donald Ressler, Raymond Reddington & Donald Ressler, Samar Navabi & Donald Ressler
Comments: 28
Kudos: 142





	1. The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is set in early s7 in terms of what has already happened in the story, but there’ll be none of this Katarina nonsense and also! Samar never had to disappear because I love her and wanted her in this fic. Also, I played with Agnes’ age because I wanted a talkative 6-year old. 
> 
> Anyway! I just thought it would be fun to write a story about 3 pivotal moments that change their relationship and a fun situation to jumpstart it all. I hope you all enjoy! This is my first fic in the fandom and I'm excited to jump right into it :)

The way the landlord explains it, it’s entirely the lady upstairs’ fault. The truth is simpler than that. The realty company never bothered making sure the fire alarms worked and nobody knows when the last fire safety test was ever done. So when the small kitchen fire burst and blackened the walls and ate through the floor, it was already too late to do anything about it.

Ressler stares at the remnants of his apartment building, smoke still spiralling in the air. A good chunk of it’s still fine, but the entire eastern top half is just a hunk of metal, wires and crumbling concrete. Distantly, he hears the sound of glass shattering as a windowpane plummets to the ground. He’s oddly dispassionate about it all. His home is completely demolished and he’s standing in minus eight-degree weather with his hands already numb but he’s so calm it’s mildly terrifying.

His apartment just burnt to bits and he can’t be bothered.

Ignoring his landlord’s blubbering explanations, Ressler picks his satchel up off the ground and turns right back around, getting into his car and driving back to where he came from. He’s pulled all-nighters at the office before; what’s one more time.

It’s only when he steps into the Post Office that the darkness of the building hits him and the silence echoes around him and he feels a cavern crater in his chest. What the _fuck_ was he going to do now.

He’s feeling a little better after he cracks open a glass of the scotch he keeps in the drawers of his desk and loosens his tie as he collapses into his office chair. Trying to be rational about it, Ressler tries to look at the pros. Except there really aren’t any.

Sure, it’s not like he had any real mementos. Well, except the album Audrey made for them when they were still together. And that cap his dad got him when he took him to his first live baseball game. And sure there was a watch that meant a little to him, and yeah it was going to be real expensive to buy another set of suits for work again, but he had money. He was an adult who didn’t _need_ things. What even were mementos?

He glances at his hands and feels that familiar swell of loss surge through him that he attempts to crush with a remorseless cruelty. He didn’t need things to remember people. He had a brain. His memories would be enough.

But almost everyone he loved was dead.

And memories fade.

And that cap was so worn at the edges from how many times he’d ran his fingers around the rim and- God- he’s done thinking about it. He’s done. What happened, happened. There’s nothing he can do about it now except move forward.

He hears the ticking of the clock, feels the time flow by slow as eternity. He just has to move on.

Easy.

It seems like almost minutes later (though he knows it’s been hours) that he’s awoken- rudely he’d like to add- by a wary Liz shaking his shoulder, “Ressler? Did you sleep here?”

Ressler groans, his back aching from his slumped position over his desk and neck threatening to pull a muscle if he dares makes the wrong move. “What’s it look like to you Keen?” His voice is still groggy from sleep and he has to blink a few times to get a good look at his partner.

She looks fresh-faced today, a sparkle in her eye that hadn’t been there for a long time. It felt like ages ago when he had told her she should start living her life, but he’s happy to see that she took his advice. She’s concerned though, he can tell. It’s all in the pull of her lip- not quite a frown, but not quite a straight line either. “Keen-” he starts, before she can dig into him when she raises a hand.

“Your apartment burnt down.” She says frankly- _casually_ even.

He gapes at her.

She reaches below her desk to pull out a gym bag and hands him a see-through baggie filled with toiletries. “Here.” She offers, shaking it around a little, “There’s an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste. Plus some other stuff that’ll make you feel better.” She eyes the still open bottle on his desk and the Advil looks like a godsend right then.

Ressler can’t help but look like he isn’t surprised and exasperated all at once, “You keep a runaway bag under your desk?”

“It’s not a runaway bag.” She glares, sounding offended, but he can see the humor in her eyes, “It’s my shit happens and I’d rather be prepared for it bag.” She gives him a once-over, “Seems like you could take a page out of my book.”

He laughs, something short and wry, “Touché.” He leans over to take the bag from her, smiling at her gratefully, before his expression changes, “But how’d you know? Reddington?” he glowers, voice dropping.

Liz can’t help but laugh, pulling out her phone to CNN. “You know that the news exists right? I don’t need Reddington to tell me that a building in my neighbourhood went up in flames.”

Ressler has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Shut up.” He mumbles, glaring at her snickering.

“Aw come on, a little teasing never killed anyone.” Her light-hearted attitude demurs slightly as she walks over to place a hand on his arm, “I’m really sorry though Ressler. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your home and everything you own like that.”

Ressler shrugs gruffly, trying not to let anything show. “It’s fine. I’ve been meaning to put that Marie Kondo chick’s advice to good use anyway.” He tries to joke but Liz doesn’t bite, just keeps looking at him with those warm eyes and Ressler has to look away.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t know how to accept softness anymore. Not when everything in his life is made of so many jagged edges.

“Ressler.” Liz repeats, more sternly.

He sighs, throwing his hands up, “Fine. It sucks. You happy? Now I have to start all over and that’s gonna suck. But what’s gonna suck more is being in a motel for God knows how long until I figure everything out again.”

Liz blinks, before her face scrunches like she thinks she’s stupid. He kinda hates how well he knows that face. “What motel. You’re staying with us.” She says, like it was obvious. Like Ressler was just supposed to know.

“Liz,” he starts, swiveling in his chair so he can face her, “I appreciate that, but I can’t just-”

She doesn’t even wait for him to finish, just rolls her eyes and starts walking away, “We can argue about this until you feel better about saying yes. But I’m making the executive decision to just press skip. You’re staying with me.” She says firmly, looking at him from where she’s caught between their office and the hall.

“You’re my partner. I’m not going to let you go through your entire life literally going up in flames by yourself.” She quirks a grin, playfulness dancing in the corners of her eyes, “You can pull your weight by making those famous tacos you keep bragging about though if it makes you feel any better.”

Ressler snorts, shaking his head a little before catching her gaze again, “Are you sure about this Liz? You don’t have to do this because you feel bad for me.”

Her gaze is steady. So steady it makes Ressler’s throat constrict a little. “One day you’ll figure out I care about your general wellbeing Ressler, but I’ll take what I can get for now.”

Audrey’s face flashes in Ressler’s mind when Liz walks out of their office. He fixates on Audrey’s smile, the glint of the engagement ring on her finger, her hair as he ran his fingers through it. It used to be so easy for him. It was so easy to be open and to love and be loved and now he feels like danger lurks in every corner and trust is so hard to come by he stops looking for it at all. His whole life, he’s never relied on anyone for anything.

There are some kinds of pain that break people.

Ressler’s always loved too deeply. He can’t help it. In his world of black and white, once he loved someone, there was no going back. He’d climb every mountain, break every bone, fight his way through anyone and everyone for that person. Without question. Without hesitation. For him, love was duty and obligation and there were certain things you owed a person you claimed to be devoted to.

So it felt like he was dying when the person you would’ve done everything for disappointed you. To him, letting someone down…that was the highest form of apathy.

Ressler looks down at the see-through bag and stupidly feels a sense of comfort, like things weren’t going to just suck and keep sucking. Taking a breath, he pushes off the chair, groaning as all his joints pop. He’s going to go brush his teeth and wash the gunk out of his eyes and hopefully feel more like a person and less like a collection of bad decisions and angsts. Then, he was going to go to the main floor, listen to one of Aram’s stories and get to work.

The rest will come when it comes.

“Ressler!” Aram shouts as soon as he spots him slipping out of the bathroom, “Is your apartment really gone??”

Ressler sighs, hoping to get over this part of today’s small talk before he goes insane. He decides to just cut the conversation before it even starts. “Yes, my apartment’s gone. No there’s nothing left. It was entirely the building management’s fault for not having good fire alarms, and I guess the lady who left something on the stove too long but she’s seventy so I’ll forgive her.”

Liz snorts, “Well that’s big of you.”

Ressler shoots her a dirty look, but Liz just laughs.

Cooper, who walks in right then, looks contrite, “We’re all sorry to hear about what happened Agent Ressler. If there’s anything any of us can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Ressler nods, already knowing he’s lying when he says, “Yes sir. I appreciate it.”

Liz is giving him a look like she knows exactly what he’s thinking, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction of looking at her and so pointedly keeps his gaze on Cooper.

“Don’t worry sir, he’s staying with me until he finds a new place.” Liz chimes in.

Cooper nods approvingly, “Good, someone to keep him in line.” He jokes, as if _Ressler_ was the one who shot the Attorney General and was a fugitive for a good hot minute.

But he supposes he _is_ the one who killed the National Security Advisor and then got blackmailed for it. So. All in all. Maybe they both had issues.

Aram snickers and Ressler just wants to sleep his hangover away somewhere very very dark and far away from everyone in this room.

But the warmth in the air and the familiarity of the teasing is the closest thing to family he’s had in a long, long time, and he basks in it though he tries hard not to. He’s busy fiddling with something on his phone when Reddington strolls in like he’s timed the whole thing, whistling merrily as he announces with his usual dramatics that he has a case.

The thought of bringing down some big Wall Street psychos hustling the 99% out of their hard-won wealth is enough to cheer Ressler up and punching a goon right in the face is really all the therapy he needs to feel like he’s really almost sort of over his entire life burning in a blaze thing.

Of course, that’s all easier said than done and he’s confronted with the harsh truth of the world when Liz catches up with him after work and tells him that she’s more than happy with giving him her booty shorts and t-shirts to sleep in, but he should probably head to the mall and buy some emergency clothes until he has time to actually restock his wardrobe.

Ressler feels all the energy drain right from his body at the prospect of doing any of that. He glances down, pulling at his sleeve, “I dunno, I think I could pull this off every day of the year. It’s neutral.”

Liz gives him The Look, shaking her head with a smile, “Ok, but what are you gonna wear when you do your laundry every day?”

Ressler grins, “The booty shorts.”

Liz throws her head back to laugh and Ressler can’t help but stare at her neck, his eyes trailing down to the dip of her collarbone and then the- he shakes his head, forcing his gaze upward. “Fine. I’ll go shopping. But I’m not going to be happy about it.”

Liz nudges him in the ribs as they make their way to the elevator. “Think of it like a redo. You get to recreate yourself!”

“What if I liked myself.” He grumbles and Liz shrugs.

“I’m not that sorry that brown button-up burnt.”

“Hey! I liked that button-up.”

“You looked like a turkey leg.” Liz says remorselessly.

Ressler’s speechless for a second before he turns to her, “Oh, because you have such impeccable fashion taste.”

She turns her nose up to the air, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Yellow swea-”

Liz reddens, shoving him with no heat, “I was TRYING something!”

“I have impeccable taste.” He mocks, smirking as she glares at him.

“Fine. I’ll concede on that one sweater. One.” She raises her pointer finger and Ressler tucks it back into her fist.

“Do you want me to bring anything for you? Since I’m going out anyway.”

Liz mulls it over before shaking her head. “You just worry about you. I’ll get everything sorted for you by the time you come.”

Ressler nods, moving to head to his car before he stops, reaching for her arm gently, “Liz.” He says, a myriad of words swirling in his throat but he’s too uncertain to say any of them.

“Thanks.” He says instead, and wonders what his life would be like if he weren’t actually a coward.

She just smiles that same soft smile that makes him feel like he can finally rest and says, “Yeah, I’m pretty great.”

Can’t really argue with that.

* * *

Ressler sifts through sock bundles, half wishing he mentioned this entire trip to Aram because he’s pretty sure he would jump at the chance to buy a whole new wardrobe and do the majority of the work. The entire thing’s exhausting, but he’s rebuilding his entire life from scratch and he supposes this is one of those, get it over with and never have to do it again kind of deals.

He checks out of the department store with a couple hundred dollars worth of stuff and doesn’t even blink. He’s walking out of here with enough clothes, toiletries, and a suitcase to keep them in to get him through and he reflects for a moment how rootless he really is. His passport is always at work anyway from how often they need to travel, he kept a backed up hard drive in his desk and his really important documents were all in a black box he knows survived the flames but would have to be picked up from all the items the firefighters picked out in a couple days. Nothing really tied him anywhere.

He doesn’t really know what to do with that thought and so drops it, letting the cold winter air shock him out of his daze. He plugs in Liz’s address into the GPS, letting his anxieties get the better of him in the twenty minutes it takes to get to her apartment. Mostly, he’s worried that he’s going to overstay or make her uncomfortable in some way and that it’ll ruin everything that was good between them.

It’s probably a stupid thought.

They’ve survived kidnappings and attempted murders and beatings and international plots and he’s sitting there freaking out about whether sharing a bathroom is going to be the end of them. As if _that_ \- and not the secrets and the lies and the double crossings and the body numbing fear that the other was dead and it was all their fault- was the line they couldn’t cross.

Somehow, domesticity was scarier.

Working through his worries, he knocks on Liz’s door with his foot, hands all tangled up in too many bags than were necessary and she opens the door with an amused grin. “Buy any brown shirts?”

“And give you the satisfaction?” He makes a face, “Hell no.”

Liz takes some of his bags, beckoning him to follow her in. He’s expecting her to lead him to her couch but she smiles widely at Agnes, “Agnes, do you want to show Uncle Don where he’ll be staying?”

Agnes peers up at him and Ressler suddenly doesn’t know how to look like a normal person and not some weird guy with snow in his hair. But Agnes just smiles shyly and pushes open a bedroom door. Ressler knows instantly its Agnes’ from the soft pink walls and princess posters everywhere. But instead of a kiddy bed, there’s a full double with white sheets decorated with dark blue stripes. Liz catches him looking and shrugs, “I asked Red if he had an extra mattress and voila.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” He says, but he’s already walking towards it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“No offense Ressler, but I think you’re a little too big for Agnes’ bed, right sweetie?”

Agnes nods energetically, laughing a little at his expense. “Hey, I’m not that big.” He mock protests and Agnes’ giggle makes something warm flush within him.

“Is Agnes okay with this? I don’t want to push her out of her own room.”

Liz crouches down hugging her daughter tightly, “Agnes is going to be sleeping over with mommy.”

Agnes cheers, hugging her mother back, and Ressler can’t help but think that throughout it all, Liz never stopped being a good mom. What was more important than knowing your mother loved you no matter what?

Ressler smiles, looking down at her, “Well thank you Agnes, I really appreciate you letting me stay in your room.”

“It’s okay.” The six-year-old says brightly, “Mommy said you need a new house. I’d be sad if we had to leave our house.”

“Yeah, it’s not fun.” He agrees.

“So we’ll take care of you!” she says brightly and Liz only hugs her tighter.

“Oh my God you’re so cute.” She says, nuzzling her daughter’s hair.

Not that Ressler wouldn’t already have taken on an entire army on his own to keep Liz’s daughter safe, but he’s pretty sure in that moment that he’d die for her at not think twice about it.

“Thanks Agnes.” He says, hoping is voice doesn’t betray him, “That means a lot to me.”

Liz finally lets Agnes go, standing up to survey the room. “She’s a really good kid.” Ressler says sincerely.

Liz smiles, looking over her shoulder to where Agnes plays silently with her dolls. “Who knows where she gets that from.” She muses.

“Don’t say that.” He frowns, “You’re a great mom. Anyone can see that.”

She looks at him like she’s ready to disagree before she changes the subject completely. “I cleared out some of the drawers and some closet space for your stuff. And there’s towels on the chair there. That’s probably everything, but feel free to dig around for anything else you need.” Her lips curl into a small smile, “You’re officially part of the Keen household now.”

“This is perfect, thanks Liz. I’ve been dying for a shower all day.”

She grins, pointing her thumb over her shoulder, “You know where the bathroom is. Dinner should be ready by the time you finish up.”

Ressler looks at her suspiciously, he’s sure there wasn’t anything on the stove when he walked by and he’d bet all his savings there wasn’t anything in the oven either. Liz throws her hands up, “Fine. The delivery guy’s coming in half an hour are you happy? I was going to throw it in a bowl and pretend I made it, but we get it, you’re a detective.”

“Actually, I’m one of the FBI’s best special agents.” He goads.

Liz rolls her eyes, “Oh please. Aram’s probably more valuable than both of us combined.”

“I said _one_ of. Being modest is another one of my great talents.”

He’s still laughing to himself at her exasperated face when he hops into the shower and lets the hot water ease every tense point in his body.

Liz watches him go in for a shower, figuring she should finish setting up the table for dinner when Ressler walks out fifteen minutes later, a towel wrapped around his waist. She can feel her mouth opening before she ducks her face quickly, trying to push away the image of water droplets running down her partner’s chest and the low hang of the towel. She sets the plates down a little _too_ aggressively and Ressler’s gaze shoots to her and she feels a flush creeping up her neck.

Oh God.

When Ressler comes out again- fully clothed- Liz is determined to be a properly functioning person and spoons out the noodles into Agnes’ plate like a responsible adult. Ressler takes an exaggerated bite, humming, “Mmm, this is delicious Liz. You have to tell me the recipe.”

She gives him a wry look, a smile pulling at the edge of her lips, “Sorry, it’s a secret between me and the hundreds other Thai Expresses in the state.”

“How about it Agnes, is mommy a good cook?” Ressler asks and kind of wants to laugh when Agnes actually thinks about it.

“She makes really yummy burgers.” She says finally.

Ressler raises a brow, “Burgers eh?”

“That’s a secret I actually do know. Sam always was adamant about a good burger.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Ressler jokes, taking a big sip of his water.

Agnes talks about her drawings her teacher hung up and Liz laughs over her own story and can barely finish and Ressler throws in one-liners and if he wanted to, he could pretend that it was this, and not eating cold food in front of his tv, that was his real normal.

Agnes slips out of her seat, shaking his thigh, “Did you know I can write stories now? Miss. Cherry says I learned really fast.”

Ressler looks up, mouthing ‘Miss. Cherry’ to an amused Liz who just shrugs.

“Wow, that’s very impressive young lady. Have you written anything here?”

She nods excitedly, running to her shiny purple backpack and pulling out a notebook. “Uncle Don look! Look!” As Agnes points out all the different letters she can write- lowercase and uppercase- all Ressler can see is that pregnancy test and an entire future he would never get to know.

His hand rises and hesitates in the air for just a second before he pats her head with that gruff kind of fondness he’s so good at, “You’re very talented little lady. That’s way better than I was at that age.”

Agnes glows and Ressler’s reminded of sunbeams after a rainstorm. He takes in a breath. Lets it go.

Endings are just beginnings if you look at them right.

He looks up, catching Liz in a private moment of fondness, her eyes sparkling, every edge in her face softened, lips smiling almost like she didn’t notice. He’s breathless for a second. Locked onto an expression more peaceful than he’d ever seen Liz to be.

She catches him watching her, brows furrowing self-consciously. She folds into herself, “What?”

Ressler opens his mouth, expression wilting when he’s saved by Liz’s phone ringing. “Aram? What’s up?” she answers.

“Liz, oh thank God. Do you remember that really romantic restaurant you were telling me about on Fifth ave? Do you remember what it’s called because I told Samar I’d take her and then I just completely forgot it and-”

Ressler snorts as he gets up to leave Liz to her date fixing magic and head into his new room. He collapses onto the bed and tries to think about anything other than that blissful smile.

Predictably, it doesn’t work.

* * *

Ressler learns a few things about the Keen girls as the days fall off the calendar. He knows that Agnes goes to Sunnyside Elementary for first grade and that Liz drops her off every morning while her nanny, Yue, picks her up after school and watches her until she comes back.

“It’s great you found someone with flexible hours like that.” Ressler comments as he pulls out of the kiss and ride at Agnes’ school.

Liz had told him he should just take his own car, but he didn’t really see the point in guzzling all that gas for nothing.

Liz’s lip twists in that way when she’s feeling that familiar mix of resignation and misplaced guilt. “Well…it wasn’t really me who found her.”

He raises a brow, “Reddington?”

She nods, looking like she’s afraid he’s going to judge her for it. As if he would ever judge a choice he knows she must have agonized over.

“I just-” she breaks off, looking out the rear-view mirror, “I had this sudden panic you know? That one day I’d come home and Agnes would be gone and there would’ve been no one who could’ve protected her. Or worse.” Her voice drops, “Someone who could be bought off.”

“Come on Keen, you really think a baby-sitter’s gonna give up their kid?”

“I think you and I both know that we never know what kind of pressure points a person can have.” She catches his gaze and Ressler looks away.

“Yue’s a master martial artist.” Her lips curve up, the kind where you have to laugh or else you’ll cry from the craziness, “She’s extremely talented apparently. And you know, more afraid of betraying Reddington than she is excited at making a quick buck.” She shrugs, “So, you know. A win-win.”

Ressler flicks on the turn signal, sliding into the left lane. “You’re keeping Agnes safe in a world you know can be anything but. That doesn’t seem like something to be ashamed of to me.”

She smiles at him, small and shaky. “Come on Liz. It’s not like they’re writing manuals about this. What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Kid With An International Criminal Grandpa.”

Liz snorts, laughter bursting behind her eyes. Ressler grins, “It’s just not as catchy.”

“Obviously you’re in the wrong career. You should be writing niche self-help books.”

Ressler makes a rumbling noise in the back of his throat, “Not sure I’m the expert in having your life put together. Everything I own’s in one suitcase and my biggest good deed today was giving Agnes the last bit of orange juice.”

“Truly a good deed.” Liz agrees solemnly and Ressler juts out his elbow at her playfully.

When they walk into the Post Office, he can’t help but feel like it’s going to be a good day.

* * *

Hours later, Yue greets them with a curt nod as Ressler and Liz walk through the apartment door. Agnes is currently propped against the wall on her hands, feet trying to find a good balancing point. Ressler can’t help but look confused and Liz laughs at him, “Agnes has been really into gymnastics nowadays. I figured who better to teach her some good balancing tricks than a martial arts master.”

Yue almost smiles, before heading out the door. “Not the chatty type eh?”

Liz shrugs, “Apparently she lights up around Agnes, guess she just doesn’t like me much.”

“Now that’s just impossible.” Ressler teases and Liz just rolls her eyes.

Ressler moves away, opening the fridge and glancing up at Agnes, “You craving shrimp stir-fry?”

Agnes cheers and Ressler grins, pulling out everything he needed. And just like that, something like a routine happens.

And for the first three weeks, nothing much changes between them. Ressler gets his black box returned to him and confirmation that his renters insurance payout would be coming any week now. The realty company confirms that if at any time he wanted to return to the building upon reconstruction, he’d be more than welcome. But given that was supposed to take at least 8 months, Ressler didn’t think that was likely. But honestly, between their crazy hours and the ache in his bones most nights and the never-ending craziness that was his and Liz’s lives, Ressler barely has time to think about finding a place let alone actually look.

And things stay fine. For the most part. Him and Liz are still friendly- no fights or tensions in sight just yet. Their dynamic hasn’t changed really. There’s still a boundary, a shyness almost. Like they’re still trying to be on their best behavior and put up a front as though they haven’t literally seen each other at their worsts already.

So, things stay the same. Until one day they don’t.

Agnes has a play-mate in the building, an adorable little kid with round glasses and hair that flops over his eyes. Honestly, throw in a lightning-shaped scar and a robe and he might as well have been Harry Potter. His name’s Ahmed and his parents absolutely love Agnes, probably because she’s a sweet kid who was able to get Ahmed out of his shell a little.

It’s around seven-thirty, Agnes went down to play an hour and a bit ago and was supposed to be back soon. Ressler’s on the couch, absently watching an episode of something or other when he catches Liz pacing in his side view. “Liz.” His voice firm, “The Abdul-Rahmans live two floors down, we can go down right now if you’re that worried.”

Her neck snaps up, “I’m not worried.” She retorts instinctively before his unimpressed look causes her to deflate. “Okay. I’m worried. But you’d be too if there were literal bad guys lurking around every corner ready to snatch you up to get back at a world renowned criminal.”

Fair.

But he’s supposed to be helping.

“She probably lost track of time, it hasn’t even been ten minutes. The elevator takes longer than that. Have you tried calling her?”

On principle, Liz doesn’t believe in giving kids phones until they’re teenagers. But she made an exception for a flip phone with her as the only contact and a pay as you go plan to keep Agnes in contact with her whenever they were apart.

“I called twice.”

Her lip is still pulled tight and Ressler stands up, gesturing for her to follow him, “Come on, let’s go.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Come on, come on.” He says louder, opening the door for them.

They take the elevator two floors down and Liz is knocking on the Abdul-Rahman’s door with a barely suppressed panic. Nobody answers and for a second, Ressler’s absolutely convinced that she’s going to kick the door down when finally, a middle-aged woman still tying her hijab around her head opens the door, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting-” she blinks, “oh, Elizabeth! How are you.”

Liz’s smile runs thin, “I’m good Aya thanks. Is Agnes here?”

Aya’s brows furrow, “No, Khalid took them to get ice-cream at Murphy’s.” It’s slowly dawning on Aya that Liz has no idea because her face falls, “I’m so sorry, Agnes told us that she asked you, I thought you knew.”

Liz’s jaw tightens. “Did she now.”

“Let me get you Khalid’s number.” Aya rushes to say, but Liz shakes her head.

“No, no it’s okay. I know where that is. Thanks Aya. And don’t worry about this. Agnes is going to have a very, _very_ , long lecture on lying.”

She’s fuming as they walk back to the elevator, jamming the buttons like they were personally offensive. “Who taught her to lie like that! How could she think that was okay??”

Ressler doesn’t say anything, just takes in all her yelling and hopes she feels better when she’s done. “She KNOWS the rules about going out! I need to know where she is at all times! It’s for her own safety and she KNOWS that and she still feels the need to lie?? It’s not even a GOOD one! It’s ice cream, why would I say no!”

Ressler opens his mouth, but Liz cuts him off without noticing. “I try so hard to balance being a crazy psycho mom and someone who lets her grow but this is- this is crazy!” she yells, for lack of better word, jamming the ground floor button remorselessly.

“I’m sure she has a good explanation.” Ressler tries to say.

“Oh there BETTER be an explanation, but I guarantee it won’t be good.”

When Agnes sees the two of them from her perch on the bar stool seats, she at least has the decency to look ashamed. Ressler takes it upon himself to explain the situation to Khalid while Liz whisper yells at Agnes that they’re leaving right this second.

The walk back to the apartment is tense and Ressler has the most ridiculous flashback of being in the backseat of his dad’s car after getting a detention. It’s only when they’re safe in their own walls that Liz loses it.

“Agnes, I’m very disappointed in you.” She’s trying hard to control herself and it’s coming off as anger, but Ressler can see the truth.

She’s terrified. Absolutely terrified.

Agnes looks away, refusing to say anything. “Look at me Agnes and tell me why would lie to Ahmed’s parents like that and not tell me where you are.”

Silence.

“Agnes.” She repeats, firmer.

“Because!” She yells, little hands curling into fists, “You were gonna say no and I didn’t want you to!”

Liz looks taken aback before looking at Ressler as though to say what??

“Why would you think I’d-”

“Because you always say no!” Agnes stamps her foot, “You only let me go places with you and Yue. You don’t even let me go to the park and it’s right there!”

Liz sputters, “You’re six, not sixteen.”

“All my other friends get to go to the park by themselves! It’s not fair that you’re the only mean one! And Ahmed’s dad is really nice and I wanted to go with them!”

Hurt floods through Liz’s eyes and she looks up at him like she’s at a loss. Her words in the elevator echo in Ressler’s head. Finding that balance, it was impossible. She would always end up being too much because the alternative- Agnes being taken again- Liz would never, ever risk. And Agnes would always think she was just being punished for the sins of others.

“Agnes,” Ressler says before he even realizes what he’s doing. He’s over-stepping, he has to be over-stepping, but he just sees the hurt in Liz’s face and can’t stop himself, “your mom wants you to have just as much fun as all your friends, but she has to make sure you’re safe too. That’s why she wants to know where you are, so you can both get what you want.”

Frustrated tears drip over her flushed cheeks and Agnes shakes her head, “I never get what I want! Never ever ever!”

“That’s not true.” Liz says, voice shaky but getting stronger. She bends down so she’s at Agnes’ level, eyes gentle, “Agnes, I know that things aren’t always how you want them, but I promise that we’re going to figure it out. If you want to do something, just ask me, I promise I’ll try everything I can to help you do it. If you want to go get ice cream, just tell me. For you to be safe and happy. That’s all I want.”

Agnes wipes her nose with her sleeve, looking mistrustful, but the tension has dropped from her shoulders.

“But do you understand that you scared me today? When I had no idea where you were? How would you feel if you came home and I was gone?”

Agnes glances at him, “I’d ask Uncle Don.”

Liz’s eyes glitter with good humor as she tucks a stray piece of hair behind Agnes’ ear, “Okay fine, what if you came home and both me and Uncle Don were gone?”

Agnes is quiet for a moment, before her eyes well up again. “I’d feel scared.”

Liz nods, “Yeah. Really scared.” Slowly, her arms wrap around her daughter and she presses her close, “Can we please stop the lying from now on?”

Agnes nods into her neck, squeezing her tightly. “I’m sorry.” She hiccups, “I’m really sorry.” Liz closes her eyes, whispering affirmations before she opens them, locking onto Ressler.

‘Thank you’ she mouths and Ressler just shakes his head, slipping quietly into his room to give them some privacy.

He really didn’t do anything.

But a little bit later, when he comes out to grab a snack and he sees the two of them curled up on the couch watching Monsters Inc, Agnes points at Sully and giggles, “Uncle Don it’s you! Scary on the outside but fluffy on the inside.”

He gapes, glaring as Liz bursts out laughing. “Hey now. I can be scary. Bad guys are very, very afraid of me.”

“But I’m not a bad guy.” Agnes counters smartly, making grabby hands at the pack of cookies in his hand.

He grins, coming up behind the couch and holding the cookies out of reach, “I think you know what you need to say if you want any of these.”

Agnes pouts, shaking Liz’s shoulder, “Mommy!!” she whines, “Uncle Don’s bullying me. He’s bullying me!”

Liz snorts, looking at Ressler with amusement, “Are you picking on my daughter agent? I’ll have your badge for this.”

“I would argue that I was being bullied first.” He counters, before sighing in mock defeat, “But who can keep saying no to that face. Here you go little lady.”

Agnes grins widely, ripping open the pack without aplomb. “Are you gonna watch with us? We’re getting to the good part!”

“What’s the good part?” He asks, taking a seat next to her.

“All of it.” Her and Liz say together and he snorts, shaking his head.

An hour and a half later, the credits are rolling and Agnes is asleep against him, her arms wrapped around his own. It’s dark out, the only light coming from the faint glow of the TV. Liz looks at Agnes, tenderness softening every line of her face. “Looks like she’s out.”

Ressler glances down, unable to help the curve of his lip at her goofy sleeping face. “I can carry her if you want.”

But Liz is looking at him like she’s never really seen him before and Ressler tilts his head, questioning. He doesn’t push though. Just waits. “Thank you.” She finally says, voice quiet even within the silence, “For today.”

“I didn’t do anything-”

“No.” she interrupts, “No, you really did. I’m always feeling like I’m- like I’m trying to juggle a thousand balls in the air, but I keep dropping more than I’m throwing.” She looks down at Agnes, eyes pained. “I’m just terrified I’m going to ruin the one good thing I have in my life.” She whispers and Ressler’s entire heart aches.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” His voice is firmer than he intends it to be and her jolt only proves it. “You’ve done everything you can to be a good mom and before, I would’ve said the exact same thing based only on my absolute faith in your desire to do the best you can for Agnes. But in case you’ve forgotten,” his tone gets lighter, something teasing in it, “I’m basically your roommate now and I can see first-hand that you’re doing just fine.”

A sheen ripples across Liz’s eyes and her lip trembles for only a second.

“Agnes is lucky that of everyone in the world, her mom is you.”

Liz ducks her head, her hair a veil. He’s wondering if he’s said too much when Liz gets up suddenly. She crouches in front of him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, pressing as much of herself against him as she could. He wants to hug her back even tighter, but with only one free arm, he loops it around her waist and closes his eyes.

“Thank you.” She repeats, and the words echo with a thousand feelings left unsaid but felt so acutely Ressler’s throat is thick with them.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything.” He replies gruffly and when she pulls away he slips his hand under Agnes’ legs and slowly extricates his other from her grip so he can gently cradle her neck.

He pushes from his knees, lifting her up softly enough Agnes only murmurs before pressing her face into his shirt. “Lead the way.” He nods to Liz.

Quietly, they make their way to Liz’s room where he sets Agnes down as gently as he can. He slips the blanket over her and for a moment, him and Liz stand in each other’s orbits, the only sound their breathing. There’s a charge in the air. A sort of haunting precipice of complete transformation that both scares him and makes him desperate for it all at once.

But a siren wails in the distance and the moment shatters like it had never existed at all. “I-” he starts, before he stops, not knowing what to say, “Good night Liz. See you tomorrow.”

It must be the shadows, but he could’ve sworn she looked disappointed.

“Night Don.” She says softly and it’s only when he’s in the safety of his own bedroom where the air is cooler and the silence is only silence that he realizes that’s the first time she’s ever said his name.

* * *

There’s a sort of tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. It’s calm and easy and it’s like his world his honey, a slow sweetness that tints his vision gold. For so long, his life was a cycle of high tensions, life-threatening situations, the thrill of victory, the crash of sleep and solitude, and being right back at high tension. Maybe it was the loneliness. Or maybe it was monotony of his days that painted everything in smouldering greys where there was now bursts of colour that settled into something tranquil and comforting.

He's heading into the office alone today so he can get a head-start on some files. He tries not to dwell on how the car feels empty without Agnes’ chattering and Liz making faces at him from the passenger seat. He pulls into the black-site’s parking lot only to see Reddington leaning on his car, Dembe standing behind him.

Ressler shakes his head with a wry curl of his lip. He was wondering when this was going to happen. “You just loitering?” He calls out as he closes his car door.

Red claps his hands together in front of him, looking as cheery as ever, “I wish I had the time to just loiter about. Those teenagers always look like they’re having so much fun. No, I’m here on business I’m afraid.”

“If it’s another Blacklister, Keen isn’t here yet.”

Something twinkles in Red’s eye, “It’s not a Blacklister, but it does have to do with Agent Keen. Or more specifically, your prolonged sejour in her home.”

Ressler’s expression turns guarded and his cavalier grin disappears. “What about it?”

Red looks at him with exaggerated concern, “I’m just simply curious if you’ve found a way out of your predicament yet.”

Ressler shrugs, still tense, “Nothing yet.”

He doesn’t quite mention that he hasn’t really put any effort in yet either.

“I thought you might say that.” Red says, pushing up off the car, “So I took the liberty of finding you a few options myself.”

Ressler mouth opens and then closes. “You what.”

“Listings Donald! I found listings. I’m sure you’re familiar with them.” Dembe holds out a file and Ressler gawks at him for a few seconds before reaching out to take it.

He flips through it, not really registering all the various photos and specs for each place. He snaps the file shut, something hard in his jaw. “Why do you want me out of Liz’s place so bad?” He asks suspiciously.

Red just has the audacity to look offended. “Want you out?? And have you homeless? Never. I simply thought I’d lend a helping hand. You’ve had a lot on your plate the past couple weeks. I’m not surprised you haven’t put much energy into searching.”

“How did-” Ressler cuts himself off, not even bothering.

Red just smiles that familiar I-know-something-you-don’t smile and tips his hat. “Well, I’d better be off. Dembe and I have reservations for the most exquisite little mussels place you’ve ever been to. The moules frites Julian serves is just divine.”

Ressler just stares at him as him and Dembe get into the car with a practically mocking wave goodbye. Ressler’s grip tightens around the file folder and when he gets into his office, he wants to open it, really read every listing. He should figure out Red’s angle- because there was always an angle. But there was all that paperwork he had to do and that report he had to submit to Cooper and Aram’ll be in soon to give him that technical update and he really doesn’t have to do it now.

When Liz walks in an hour later, Ressler throws the file into his desk drawer like it’s a secret and tries to look normal when she steps through their office door. “Hey you.” She smiles, setting her bag on the desk and taking off her jacket.

He feels like he’s just gotten away with a crime and for the life of him can’t understand why. “Hey.” He finally manages to grunt out.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, expression narrowed. 

“Nothing, sorry. Just,” he gestures to his desk, “paperwork.”

Liz groans sympathetically, “Ugh, tell me about it. I still owe Cooper my report from the Gorbachev case.”

Ressler makes a face somewhere between laughing at her and scolding her. “Liz, that was a month ago.”

She grins goofily, “I suck.”

Ressler snorts, “I’ll say. You make me look good.”

They chat as though they hadn’t just had breakfast with each other or stayed up on the couch arguing about the merits of the James Bond movies the night before and Ressler almost forgets the file burning a hole in drawer.

He knows he’s overstayed by now. He’s taken advantage of Liz’s hospitality for too long and he knows it but- she laughs at something he’s said, eyes crinkling and Ressler feels the air leave his lungs.

She really is beautiful.

He’d still see her every day at the office, but when he looks at her, all teeth and flushed cheeks and wisps of hair, he can’t help but think he’s going to miss her as though she were ever his to miss.

* * *

He’s off at dinner, even Agnes can tell. She’s staring at him with furrowed brows and he tries to smile at her but from her perturbed expression he thinks he’s only made it worse. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Liz presses again, “You’ve been weird since this morning.”

The file folder burns in his bag lying on the couch and he doesn’t understand why he’s trying to hide something they both already know. It just feels like too sudden of an ending. His gaze locks onto the chicken and broccoli on his plate. It’s stupid. _He’s_ stupid. It’s the inevitability of it all that should give him more fucking balls and yet-

“Reddington gave me a bunch of apartment listings.” He finally says.

He’s never liked lying and he likes lying even less when it’s to Liz. There’s been too many omissions and half-truths and full on lies between them to last a lifetime; he isn’t interested in adding any more.

Liz’s entire expression pinches and then settles into something like a disturbed confusion.

“Why.” She asks and he pops his brows. 

“That’s what I said.”

“Well…” she fiddles with her fork, “have you looked at them yet?”

He makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, “Not really. I thought I’d get around to it tonight.”

Liz looks like she wants to say something before she thinks better of it and stabs a chicken cube, “You don’t have to rush anything Ressler. You know you’re welcome for as long as you need.”

He doesn’t miss the use of his last name and he looks away from her. “Thanks, but I’m sure Agnes wants her room back.”

He goes to smile at her but she’s frowning intently, lip jutting out. “Why do you have to leave.” She demands, and she looks so much like Liz then it hurts.

“You know I can’t stay here forever.” He hopes he sounds as adult as he’s trying to be.

She frowns harder, “Yes you can.”

He looks up at Liz helplessly, but she’s staring at him like she’s expecting an answer too. “Tell you what, how about you look at some of the places with me, maybe you’ll see somewhere nice that’ll make you want to come visit me.”

Agnes crosses her arms but after a few tugs at her pony-tail she relents and gives him a grumbled, “Fine. I’ll look with you. But I don’t like it.”

He glances up at Liz, who still hasn’t said anything. “You want to look too?”

But she won’t look at him. “I’m sure anything Reddington’s picked out will be up to par.”

Twenty minutes later, him and Agnes are back at the table going through booklets and Ressler can’t help but think that none of these look even close to a home. One looks promising though. It’s actually near Liz’s place, in a cool looking condo with those modern finishings where everything’s varying shades of grey and white. The security’s good and the views are stunning and it’s relatively affordable and he kinda already hates it, but he figures he has to give something a shot.

He meant what he said. He couldn’t stay here forever. It just- it wasn’t right. He was just taking up room and sooner or later, they’d both realize they wanted their own space back. He wasn’t Agnes’ dad and he wasn’t Liz’s husband and he should stop playing house before someone got hurt.

He repeats that thought over and over and still doesn’t stop when he picks up Agnes’ backpack from the ground and calls, “Agnes, didn’t your mom ask you to stop leaving your things on the floor?”

And Agnes looks up guiltily from her picture book and runs along to do as she’s told. And when Liz sends her off to bed, Agnes get no support from him as he shrugs helplessly, “Sorry little lady, bed-time’s bed-time.”

And in the night, with the clouds hiding what few stars the city’s light would let shine through, Liz has her feet buried beneath his thighs for warmth and she’s reading a book she’s been trying to get through for two weeks while Ressler scrolls away on his laptop.

“Are you seriously looking into any of Red’s places?” Liz asks, breaking the silence.

Ressler pauses in his perusing. “Does it bother you if I do?”

She won’t move the book from her face and her voice is steady, like she’s focusing on keeping it temperate. “No. I just wonder what he’s getting out of this.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

She shuts her book, sitting up so that her feet pull out from under him and she’s facing him cross-legged. “You’re not imposing you know.” She says without room for interpretation.

There are less shadows under her eyes nowadays. Less smears of stress and worry. She looks brighter. More at ease. And he believes her when she says it. But it still doesn’t change the fact that their set-up wasn’t normal and Liz’s life was always lightyears away from normal and he doesn’t want to ever add to that.

He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He shouldn’t be finding it this hard to get a move on with his life and figure his shit out. He shouldn’t need to rely on Liz like this for something that was so easily fixable. He needed to get his life together and stop loitering around in hers. She’d done enough for him already.

“You know I’m grateful to you Liz. And I always will be. But I can’t mooch off you forever. It’s not fair to you.”

“We like you being here.” She says, instead of acknowledging anything he said.

Why is she making this harder than it needed to be?

“I like it here too.” He answers matter-of-factly. “But you’re going to get sick of me soon Keen. And I’d rather get ahead of it before you do.” He jokes, but she doesn’t laugh.

“I wouldn’t.” she says, so quietly he almost misses it and for a while, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Well, I’m expecting one hell of a character reference then.” He finally manages to say and can’t help but feel how flat his attempt at humor is.

“Does that mean you found a place?” She asks, not sounding particularly encouraging.

“Maybe. I was thinking of going to check it out soon.” He looks away, then back at her, “I’d like it if you came. I’ve been told I have shitty taste in apartments.”

She laughs, almost in spite of herself, “I liked your old place. Lots of windows.” She says, trying to make him feel better.

He looks almost embarrassed when he admits it was all Audrey.

Her teasing is warm and forgiving when she says, “Figures.”

“So you’ll come then?” He asks, hopeful.

She looks at him, a swirl of emotions he couldn’t identify in her eyes. “Yeah.” She smiles ever so slightly, “What would you even do without me.”

The teasing is back in order it seems, and Ressler smiles back, relieved.

“Get bedbugs for sure.” He says with mock seriousness.

Liz laughs again and when she settles back in to read her book, she turns so that her back is pressed up against Ressler’s arm, her head carefully cushioned on his shoulder. Her body’s warm against his and he fights the urge to let his laptop fall to the floor and wrap himself around her so tight he could pretend like he could shield her from the world.

He’s overcome suddenly, by the gratitude for her existence. He appreciates her so much more than he knows how to articulate. More than orbits needed gravity. More than fires soothed by rain. More than the jagged rocks that were weathered by the ocean into something smooth.

She’s his best friend. He’s always known that. She’s the person he wanted to crack a beer with after a long day at work, the person he wanted next to him to laugh with when Aram went on a tangent, the person he wanted to spend his birthdays with, and the person whose reaction he most wanted to see whenever anything happened he felt like he actually wanted to share. She was his partner and his friend and his confidante and he never realized how much fuller his life was with her in it.

He closes his eyes, making up his mind. She’s his best friend. So he needs to do the right thing and give her back her own life.

She’d thank him for it later.

* * *

He has three viewings lined up for next week and when he tells Liz, she gets that same cagey expression that she had two days ago. Since he’s told her, she no longer comes into his orbit, choosing to remain on the fringes, as though trying to rebuild those barriers that had long since been torn down.

Agnes is heading out to play with Ahmed in the park, supervised by Aya and she spins to Ressler trying to look as cute as possible, “Uncle Don, can you help me with my shoes again?”

It’s a point of silly rivalry between him and Liz that Liz doesn’t know how to tie a proper knot. She could do it, but for some reason, the laces came undone not an hour later. Ressler nods absently, “Yeah, just a sec Agnes.” He says, typing away at his laptop to finish an email.

Liz walks out of her bedroom, expression guarded. “Agnes, you need to learn to do it yourself. When Ressler leaves, he won’t be able to help you.” 

What he wants to say is that’s not true. That he would drop whatever it was to help Agnes in a heartbeat. But he knows it would be a lie. When he was gone, the only help Agnes would need from him is the kind he hoped he would never have to give.

Agnes’s face falls, like she was reminded of something she had forcibly forgotten about. “But I don’t know how.”

Liz looks like she’s going to argue some more when Ressler gets up, looking at them both, “How about one last time. Pay close attention to me okay little lady? You’ll be tying your shoes better than your mom in no time.”

She doesn’t look very convinced, but as he crouches down, making the loops slowly and taking his time to explain the process, he realizes in a sort of absent way, that he’s never going to use this part of him when he’s gone. The paternal side that just wanted to give advice and crack bad jokes.

He finishes tying the first shoe, “Ok, your turn.”

She bites her lip, looking at him with faithless eyes. “Come on, I know you can do it.”

Agnes sucks in a breath before crouching down too, picking up both laces and glaring at them like they were her mortal enemy. “That’s it, good now put it through the first loop, that’s it.” Ressler’s gentle encouraging gives her confidence and soon, Agnes shoots up, yelling.

“I did it!! Mommy look I did it!!” Agnes kicks up her feet so Liz can see and to her credit, Liz tries her hardest to look excited, but mostly, she just looks like she’s missing something so intently it’s devastating.

He recognizes that face. Of course he does. He’s more intimately acquainted with it than most.

Grief.

Ressler recoils. His worst fears creeping up within him. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed so long. He knew he shouldn’t have inserted himself like this. He was filling in a role that was never meant to be filled and now Liz was looking at him with those eyes and- Agnes barrels into him, squeezing his waist tightly, “Thanks Uncle Don! You’re the best!”

And he’s too shocked to say anything, barely hugging her back before she’s pulling away, waving goodbye to them both before leaving out the door.

Ressler turns around, “Liz I-”

She won’t look at him. Just pushes right past him, “I’m sorry I forgot I promised to meet Red today. I’m already late.”

“Liz wait-” he grabs her arm, fingers curling around her elbow.

She freezes, her gaze searching for his before she twists her head, putting a hand atop of his. “I’m sorry Ressler, I really need to go.”

He lets her go. Doesn’t even try to fight. He keeps staring at the door, hoping she’ll walk back in but then realizes he has no idea what he would say even if she did.

He’s made her feel like she had to escape her own home.

He drops his head into his hands. God he was such a fuck-up. The last person he ever wanted to hurt was already running away from him. He almost wants to laugh. No matter how far he thought he was moving forward, he always ended up right back where he started. Regretting everything he’s done and wishing he could have only been better.

Agnes comes home when she said she would and Ressler makes sure she texts Liz she’s back safe before he goes into his room, abandoning her hopeful face that he’d stick around and chat. It was time to go back to how they were. Getting Agnes attached to something that could never be permanent was only going to hurt her. And he never wanted that.

Part of him thinks he should’ve waited for Liz on the couch. So they could talk it out and resolve whatever it was that lay between them like chasm. But when he hears her come in quietly through the front door, he goes still, trying to slow even his breathing.

He hears her set her keys in the dish by the door and hang her coat. Hears her pad into the kitchen for her last cup of water before she turned in. Her footsteps come nearer and his stomach twists when he thinks she might come in.

But she doesn’t.

She just stands outside his door for what seems like an eternity before he hears her head to her own room and shut the door.

What once was easy had become infinitely harder and Ressler bows his head. Hadn’t he warned her? That she’d get sick of him sooner than she thought?

* * *

He hides away in his room for the rest of the weekend and when work rolls around, they’ve been through enough to be able to flow seamlessly together like they’re on auto-pilot. The only hiccup is that tomorrow’s the day he had booked all those viewings- and now, with everything, he knows he doesn’t have the luxury of hating any of them. It was one of these or homelessness.

“Hey, Keen.” He says, trying to assess her mood.

She looks up from her desk work, head tilted. “You don’t have to come with me tomorrow. If you…if you changed your mind.”

He hated this part of himself. The hesitant part.

“No.” she replies, eyes setting with determination, “I said I’d come. I want to come.”

Normally, he’d push back, but even though she’s been in his reach for the past couple days, he misses her and he thinks maybe after this, things will go back to the way it was.

“Great. We can head out around four.”

She nods and then turns back to her work. It’s not much. But it’s a start.

The next morning, Ressler’s feeling almost positive about the day ahead when Liz starts knocking frantically at his door. He leaps up, practically tripping over himself to open it.

Liz is waiting on the other side, a resigned quality in her eyes before she catches sight of him. He’s shirtless, in only his boxers, hair mussed and messy. She can’t stop staring. From his endearing cowlicks to his defined shoulders all the way down to the modestly toned torso and- she licks her lips.

Ressler was handsome. Very, very, handsome. But she already knew that.

“I’m sorry.” She rushes to say, “Red called me, said it was urgent. I have to head out, do you mind getting Agnes to school and making her breakfast?”

Ressler blinks, the faint edges of sleep finally trailing from his brain. “Of course I’ll take her.” He answers, like he doesn’t understand why she’d even ask.

Her smile looks almost forced, “Okay. Great. Thank you. I really appreciate it.” She glances at him one more time, focusing a little too hard on his shoulders before she pulls away to grab her things and head out the door.

Ressler stares after her, still too tired to really understand half of what was going on. He wakes Agnes up twenty minutes later after he’s showered and they have a slow morning together. He packs her lunch into her lunchbox and double checks the weather so he knows how persistent to be with the insistence of wearing mittens and a scarf - he can’t help it.

It feels like an instinct has been turned on and he doesn’t know if he ever even wants it off.

But that wasn’t his choice to make.

* * *

“What’s up?” Liz asks as she strolls into another stunning sort of condo with ceilings that were too high and couches that were too long.

“Ahh, Lizzy!” Red greets her, patting the spot on the sofa next to him, “Sit sit.”

She tries to hide her amusement, but fails at it, coming beside him and staring expectantly. “You have a case for me?”

He waves his hand in the air like it was all just details. “The case can wait. I want to hear about you.”

She blinks, “Me.”

“Has Donald found a new place yet?”

“You know, for someone who doesn’t live with me, you sure care a lot about my living situation.” She says drily.

“Consider me a concerned party.”

She settles in, supporting her chin with her hand. “You wanna tell me why exactly It is you’re so concerned?”

Red just smiles at her, “Not particularly, no.”

Liz sighs.

“I just want to say to be careful. Some boundaries can’t be uncrossed.” He says in his usual cryptic way before he perks up, “Anyway, enough of that. How interested are you in crack?

* * *

Ressler heads into work just as Liz is putting up the first photo on their presentation screen. “Hey, just in time.” She greets and he nods at her, standing next to Samar who looks at him curiously for a second before turning back to Liz.

“Erik Daae is an ex-mobster who now runs the west-coast’s biggest transport network for hard drugs. Among his circle of criminal friends, they’ve named him the Phantom- mainly because no one’s been able to catch him because he keeps his network fragmented into so many working parts no one’s ever thought they were a connected whole.”

A new picture comes up, this time of a greasy looking guy with sunglasses and a cigarette poking out between his teeth. “And this is Mitch Galbraith, he’s a whole other level of dirty but he’s also our best bet at being able to track down Daae. He coordinates the big international shipments through the ports and according to Reddington, there’s been a change in ownership.”

A picture of the docks pops up. “Galbraith’s coming in person to see if he can sort out a deal or figure out where to relocate.”

Samar nods, “So our job is to track Galbraith down to get him to lead us to Daae? What’s the guarantee that he’ll do that?”

“He’s going to have to get into contact with Daae over a transaction this big. He’ll lead us straight to him.” Liz says, voice hard.

“And if he doesn’t,” Ressler adds, “we’ll have caught him running drugs which is more than enough to hold him and pressure him to cut a deal.”

Cooper nods from where he’s been listening next to Aram. “Did Reddington give us any other information?”

Liz clicks the remote again so that a picture of a warehouse district appears. “Only that he knows that one of Galbraith’s storage facilities is somewhere around there.”

Cooper’s mouth sets in a tight line. “Alright. Ressler, Keen, you two check out the warehouses, scope out the area but do not engage until you have backup.”

“Navabi I want you to see if there’s any links we can draw between all the organizations Reddington says belong to Daae.”

Everyone nods and Ressler and Liz glance at each other before throwing on their coats and heading to the elevator. “You know why Reddington wanted us on this case?”

She shrugs, “Why does he ever?”

“I thought he hated the drug trade. I can’t see why he’d want to take over.”

“Maybe he’s doing it _because_ he hates the drug trade?” Liz poses, looking like it was plausible.

Ressler snorts. “Sure. He gave us a Blacklister as an act of charity. Okay.”

Liz’s lips curl up and just seeing her smile makes Ressler feel better than he has in days.

They’re quiet in their car ride, but it’s not a pained silence. It just is. And Ressler can’t begrudge it.

When they make it to the warehouse district, they drive by each one slowly, trying to see if anything stood out. “Maybe we should get out, scope it out the old-fashioned way.” Ressler suggests.

Liz hesitates.

“We’re not getting any info sitting in here.” He points out and she sighs.

“Alright, let’s go.”

He parks on the side and they head out, taking advantage of their smaller width to duck into the interconnecting alleys on the hunt for something suspicious. He stops, something catching his eye on the floor. He bends down to pick it up, Liz’s name on his lips when the back of his head explodes and he collapses to the ground.

Faintly, he thinks he hears someone yelling his name but it’s so hard to focus that he stops trying at all.


	2. The Kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big and special thank you to fbiagentkeen for giving me the suggestion for Ressler's Christmas gift! Thank you very very much! <3 I'm so happy I stumbled on the keenler groupchat! You guys keep the keenler love alive!

Ressler wakes up with his head throbbing and the taste of dried blood on his lips. He blinks, his eyes not registering any of the dark shapes around him and he moves to rub them only to find his hands trapped behind his back. He freezes, groping around with his finger to feel the zip tie around his wrists and another attaching him to the back of the chair he’s propped on.

He clenches his jaw, blinking his eyes tightly shut only to open them to the worst thing he’s ever seen. Liz’s head hangs limply from her slumped over position in a chair similar to his. The only reason she hasn’t fallen completely over is the duct tape someone had wrapped around her torso. Vaguely, Ressler feels the tape compress his own chest as he struggles to force any air into his lungs. But all he can process right now is how he isn’t sure if Liz is breathing.

“Keen.” He commands, “Keen.” He repeats, his voice a harsh whisper, “Wake up. Hey, Keen!”

Liz doesn’t twitch.

Panic swells through him and Ressler doesn’t know when the last time he felt this terrified that he stops being able to think was. He doesn’t remember how to break a zip tie bond. He doesn’t remember if they managed to get an SOS message out. He doesn’t know if his phone was in his pocket or in the car and whether any of those options would help Aram track them. He can’t remember how long a person can be passed out for and still be okay. He doesn’t even remember if there _is_ a cut-off. The only fact his brain has room for is that Liz is sitting less than three feet away from him and he can’t do one damn thing for her.

Ressler tugs harder at his bonds but he can’t get enough momentum with how tightly he’s taped to the chair. He tries to wriggle out but all he does is chafe the skin of his wrists and he roars in frustration, kicking at the air as if that would do anything. He’s about to start digging through the tape with his goddamn teeth when the door blows open and three men stride in, a giant grin on the leader’s face.

“Agent Ressler.” He beams, clapping his hands together, “I’m thrilled you could join us today. We have a lot to discuss.”

Ressler glares at him. In the back of his mind, he knows it’s Mitch Galbraith, the guy who was supposed to lead them to the Phantom, but everything but Liz’s silence is background noise he can’t afford to pay attention to.

“What did you do to her.” He demands, voice low, jaw tight.

“Nothing we didn’t do to you first.” Galbraith says it like it’s supposed to be reassuring, but Ressler still feels the echoes of pain run up and down his spine and knows none of it is comforting.

“You need to let me check on her. I’m not answering a damn thing until I do.” He tries to sound threatening, but he has no leverage and everyone knows it.

Mitch regards him for a moment and for a split second, Ressler regrets everything he’s said. There are a lot of rules for how you interact with scum like Galbraith, but never revealing a weakness…that’s number one.

Galbraith doesn’t say anything, just cocks his head like he’s appraising him before walking over to Liz. Every muscle clenches. Ressler swallows hard, the tension almost painful. Galbraith presses two fingers against Liz’s neck, pursing his lips like he’s thinking. “There’s a pulse. Your agent friend is alive and well.” His lips pull again, “Well, maybe not _well_. But, you know.”

He laughs like any single part of this was funny and Ressler drops his gaze to keep his rage in check. He needs to be calm. He needs to be clear-headed. He needs to be faster and smarter and better if he’s going to have any shot in hell at keeping the both of them safe and alive until the taskforce finds them. And they _will_ find them.

Ressler could count the number of constants in his life on one hand and the taskforce was a part of all of them.

He sucks in a breath, looking up just in time to see Galbraith crouch in front of him, tilting his head in what Ressler now realizes is a tic that’s annoying as hell. “Well Agent Ressler, we already dug through your pockets. We can skip the who and get right to the why.”

Ressler rolls his eyes, “You’re a criminal, you really need me to spell out the why?”

Galbraith frowns and without warning, a hand lashes out to strike him in the face. Ressler’s head flies and the stinging is sharp in his cheek. The shock lasts only a second though before he looks back up, a smirk playing at his lips, “That all you got? You help the biggest drug smuggler in the north-west expand his empire and the best you can do’s a bitch slap?”

He’s playing with fire, he knows that. But he doesn’t really know what else to do other than approach the situation with his usual cocky attitude. Plus, the more attention on him, the less was on Liz.

Galbraith grabs his hair, shoving his neck back as far as it’ll go without snapping clean in two. “You’re only alive because you have answers I need,” he hisses, breath crawling up his ear, “we both know I’m going to kill you either way. But we could make it painful,” he presses his neck even lower and Ressler’s teeth clack against each other as he tries not to make a sound, “or not.” Galbraith finishes, releasing him.

Ressler weighs his options.

There’s really only one: waste as much time as he can.

“Don’t know why you think I know anything. I’m just following orders.”

“Oh I’m sure you were Agent Ressler. But that doesn’t explain how you found out about our operations or our transport route, or even that we’d be at that warehouse today.” Behind Galbraith’s faux cheery persona lay something far more malicious.

Someone ruthless. Fearless. Hardened where he might once have been malleable. “You think you have a rat.” Ressler can’t help it, he grins, shaking his head like he’s sorry for him.

And he is. In a way. The same way he always felt a little pity for all the Blacklisters Red used and abused until he was done with them. It was just pathetic in a way. And he knows he should be angry- and he is, of course he is- that Red’s just using them to clean up the dirty underworld he lived in so he could rule as king. But a small part of him. Miniscule even. _That_ part…well, you had to admire a man for his audacity.

“No.” Galbraith’s voice drops, “I _know_ there’s a rat. And you’re going to tell me who.”

He flashes the man his tight-lipped smile that never reaches his eyes, “Sorry bud. Can’t help you.”

Galbraith looks at him and then smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” And then punches him right in the face.

Ressler can take a hit. He’s taken plenty of hits. But being tied to a chair and getting struck over and over by a man who never seemed to run out of energy was something else entirely. His body ached to shrink away from the blows but he was trapped by the tape and every muscle clenched without any hope of reprieve. He knows his nose is broken, the blood is warm over his lips and he watches as it pools over the knees of his pants.

He coughs, trying to rub his face against his shoulder to wipe some of it away but Galbraith pulls on his hair again, shaking his head. “Tell me what I want to know. Tell me or I’m going to start breaking some bones.”

But Ressler can take a hit. So he just stirs the pot and says, “Tell me about your connection to Erik Daae.”

And Galbraith kicks him in the chest so hard the air literally shoots from his lungs. He gasps, eyes bugging out of their sockets as he hunches over, heaving. He’s trying to think of something he can say that might give Galbraith enough to lay off the hits while he catches his breath when he hears a familiar groan.

Ressler’s eyes snap up, locking with Liz who’s looking at him with slowly dawning horror. “Ress-ler?” she asks, almost like she’s pleading, voice hoarse and raspy.

“Ah!” Galbraith brightens, “Agent Keen awakens. How are you sweetheart?”

Liz turns to look at him, her brows furrowed before she figures out what’s going on. “You’re Mitch Galbraith.” She says groggily, eyes still blinking rapidly.

“You’re a little slow on the uptake eh hun?”

Her lip twitches at the endearment but instead of telling him off, she just looks at Ressler, heart breaking at the bruises along his face and neck and the blood all over his clothes. “What have you done to him??”

Galbraith shrugs, “Hit him mostly. He’s not answering my questions. You know how it is.” He takes a step forward and it’s out of Ressler’s mouth before he can tell himself to shut up, “Don’t!”

Galbraith pauses, head turning just a fraction and Ressler can see that giant smile that lets him know just how stupid he really was. “You know Agent Keen, Agent Ressler over there was mighty worried about you. You’ve been unconscious for about an hour now. Poor guy’s been getting the beat down while you were there sleeping all pretty.”

He makes sure Liz is looking at him as he walks two fingers up her arm towards her neck. “But you know what I think? I think that no matter how hard I go at him, he isn’t going to talk.”

“Of course he won’t.” She asserts, eyes hard, “Neither of us will.”

“That’s where you and I disagree. I think Agent Ressler _will_ talk.” He smiles, overly cheery, “Because I’m going to beat you to death if he doesn’t.”

Galbraith grabs one of her fingers clenched tightly in a palm behind her back and pulls. The snap reverberates in the room but Liz’s scream is what echoes in Ressler’s head. The blood is pounding in his skull and he can feel that hot rage burst through him as he strains against his bonds, “Hey! She doesn’t know who the source is! He was my CI! Leave her alone!”

Galbraith is unrepentant. “You had your chance Agent Ressler. Now you’re going to suffer the consequences.”

He pulls out a knife his jacket pocket and beckons his lackey over. “Make sure she doesn’t move.”

Silently, the man presses a gun to Liz’s temple as Galbraith cuts through her ties to bring her hands to rest on her knees- her mangled index finger free to be seen by everyone in the room. A single tear runs down Liz’s cheek but her eyes are fierce when they lock onto Ressler’s own.

No matter what, they can’t give Reddington up.

He knows that. Of course he knows that but- the second snap has bile surging up his throat. Liz makes a twisted sound in the back of her throat, throwing her head back, teeth grit tight. She gasps, sucking in air as she glares, “We’re not telling you. Do you hear me?? We’re not telling you!”

Galbraith backhands her so hard her lip splits and still her expression never wavers, a relentless conviction that she would go to every length to protect. Because Red may not be her real dad but ever since they’d found out the truth, she loves him like he might as well have been. And now nothing would stop her.

Ressler knows how she feels. Except what he wants to protect isn’t a conviction or duty or the obligation he had to shield the taskforce. All he wants to protect is her. Instead, he’s complicit in her pain.

The third crack makes tears surge down Liz’s cheeks. She’s panting now, shoulders hunched in on themselves. Her fingers are swelling, already turning a mangled colour.

His breathing comes in ragged, there’s simultaneously too much air and not enough oxygen. Galbraith hits Liz again, just because he can, and his fist swings for another blow when his phone rings. From the sound of it, it’s important, because he barks an order to go facilitate a shipment transfer and pets Liz’s hair, “I’m going to go make half a mil. And then I’ll be right back.”

Liz glowers at him and before any of them can react, Galbraith’s stuck his knife into her thigh until the hilt almost reaches her skin. Liz chokes, eyes panicked as the blood gushes from the wound, and Ressler can’t help the rage that courses through him like he’s a natural disaster waiting to be unleashed, “What the fuck is wrong with you! Get away from her!”

“Incentive to stay put.” Is all Galbraith says and when the door shuts behind them, Liz lets the tears that burnt her eyes spill over her cheeks and the pain washes over her just as fresh as it was ten minutes ago. “Liz- Liz look at me.” Ressler pleads.

Liz keeps her head bowed, too ashamed to look. “How bad is it.” He asks instead, voice quiet.

“There’s been worse.” She finally says, voice tight.

So, terrible then.

“I’m gonna get us out of here Liz. I promise. I never should’ve made us walk around.”

She shakes her head, “It’s not your fault. I saw the guy behind you and was too slow to do anything about it.” she looks up, cranes her neck as though she could ascend right to the heavens. “We’re going to miss your apartment showings.”

He gapes at her. “Liz, I couldn’t give less than a shit right now. All I care about is getting us out of here.”

Liz laughs. It’s small and desperate and slightly crazed, but it’s the one thing that keeps him going. “Okay. I think I can help with that.” And with her good hand, she starts pulling at the tape around her chest.

“They should’ve broken both my hands before they left.” She says darkly but Ressler can’t imagine the guilt he would have been crushed under if that had happened.

She manages to peel the duct tape around her before she looks down at the knife in her leg. She glances at the tape she’s thrown on the floor and Ressler has a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Liz-”

But she doesn’t listen, just rips out the knife from her leg, biting hard on her lip as she does. She wastes no time cutting off a strip of her pants that she awkwardly ties around the wound with her broken fingers. After the knot is tied, she bends down to grab the tape and wrap it around as many times as it would go. When she’s done, her face is pale and she’s gasping hard; she looks like she’s going to topple right over. But she doesn’t. 

Sucking in a breath, Liz hurls herself off the chair, trying to muffle her scream. She limps her way to him, almost falling atop of him as she struggles to pull off his tape.

His every fibre is aching to do something, to fix this fucking mess he made. To fight and to yell and break them out of here. But all he can do is apologize, bending his head so that it rests against her side ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry.” He says, as she works at unwrapping him. “It’s my fault that they-”

“It’s not your fault.” She says firmly, not stopping what she’s doing but taking a moment to make sure he understood her message through the intensity of her stare.

His gaze flickers to the blood on her chin and the purple bruise forming at her cheekbone. “I should’ve just lied. How would they know until they corroborated it.”

She smiles, softly this time, “It’s always easy to think about what we could’ve done. I know you were just trying to waste time until the team got here.”

He’s struck again, at how in sync they are- how they’ve always been. He’s worked cases with Samar and Aram and a trail of so many others and nobody functioned so well like an extension of himself than Liz did.

No one ever felt like a best friend the way she did either. But he can’t think about that right now because Liz was tortured right in front of his eyes because he couldn’t have been better and now she was saving him with her broken fingers and bloody leg and he was still being as useless as when this whole thing began.

It’s almost ridiculous now, to remember the awkwardness that had lurked between them when it was so much easier to just be extensions of the other.

He can at least do his part by sliding his arms up over the back of the chair. Liz gets behind him quickly, using her nail as a shim to release the locking mechanism. Ressler pulls a wrist to chest, rubbing it to get rid of the pained itching feeling. “Thanks.” He says, nodding at her, “You ready?”

The adrenaline must still be coursing through her because she nods back, trailing behind him as he pushes open the door slowly, looking both ways before giving her the go. He loops her arm around his shoulders, helping to carry her weight as they head down the hall, avoiding taking a right when they hear voices and heading to their left. They’re halfway across of whatever building they’re in when a door opens and the two men from their capture walk out having all of two seconds to look stunned before Ressler’s leapt at them, knocking the first one out after he knocks his head against the doorframe and taking extreme pleasure in elbowing the other guy in the ribs before grappling with him.

It’s no substitute for beating the shit out of Galbraith, but this is as good as it was gonna get for now. And Ressler wanted someone to pay. There was so much rage inside him that he almost didn’t feel human. He was angry they got captured and angry he was stupid enough to fall for it and furious that he was so goddamn incompetent that the one person he wanted to protect the most was the person he had let down the worst.

Ressler sends the guy crashing into the floor and punches him hard enough that he feels the reverberation run up his own arm. He heaves in a breath, staggering to his feet as Liz tugs on his shoulder. “Ressler, Ressler come on, we have to go.” She looks at him with wide eyes and pale cheeks and Ressler snaps back into place, blinking like he was dazed.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. They’re just about to go when they hear the sounds of guns and yelling and they look at each other, fear pulsing through them. Ressler drops to his knees, patting the two men’s bodies for guns before a voice behind them is yelling to drop their weapons and turn around and Ressler’s about to lunge for an attack when Liz yells, “Oh Samar, thank God.” And he freezes, turning around to see Samar’s relieved face.

“You’re late.” He says instead of all the thanks he should be giving.

Samar takes one look at the both of them and decides to forgive it. “And you look like shit.” She replies.

Liz glances at Ressler and can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, we really do. Please tell me you have a medic on site.”

* * *

The plan never really panned out, but they had Galbraith in custody- which was better than nothing- and Samar was all too happy to take over the interrogation so that Ressler could go with Liz to the hospital.

He’s fine all things considered. His face will bruise and there’s a small cut on his cheek, but nothing that won’t disappear in a week.

Liz isn’t so lucky.

But he didn’t need a doctor to tell him that.

She keeps trying to get him to go but he tells her he’s staying with even more annoying persistence and finally, she drops it. The doctors have bandaged and splinted her fingers, her right hand is now completely out of commission for at least three weeks- not to mention the leg- and they’re just waiting for the doctor to clear her when Ressler’s phone pings. It’s the realty company, asking where he was. Somehow, Liz just seems to know.

“You should reschedule.”

He looks at her like she’s crazy. “Liz. You can’t use your right hand. And you’re probably going to be on crutches until your leg stops hurting. I’m not leaving you.”

Something like relief floods through Liz’s face before she schools her expression. “I can’t ask you to do that Don.”

“Well lucky you’re not asking then.” He retorts, softening to smile at her, as though to reassure her that it was okay to rely on him.

Probably hypocritical of him. But the gratitude in her face is worth it.

“Glad to see we’re back to Don now.” He jokes, smirking a little as her face colours.

She buries her face in her hands, “You’re making it weird. Stop making it weird. I swear to God I’ll start calling you Agent.” She threatens and all he can do is throw his head back and laugh.

* * *

Liz spends the night in the hospital and Ressler only leaves her side so someone can go home to Agnes.

“You sure you don’t want me to bring her here?” Ressler asks for probably the millionth time.

Liz shakes her head. “I don’t want her to see me like this. She’ll already be worried when she sees me with a cane or crutches or whatever they’re going to give me.” She bites her lip, mulling it over. “No, it’ll be better if she just sees you. You guys can come pick me up tomorrow.”

Ressler makes that half frown he does when he’s not overly pleased but knows he’s lost the fight. “Fine. Call me when you’re cleared.”

He lingers before he goes, torn between wanting to sit vigil at her bedside and go make sure her little girl wasn’t scared and alone. He takes in a breath, turning to go when Liz’s hand shoots out, grasping his own.

He stops, stares down at their hands and then up at her. “Thank you.” She whispers, intense, and low, and holding so many more layers than he knows how to undo.

He twists his hand so that he’s holding her own, squeezing it firmly. She grips back tightly and he’s struck by how complementary her hold is in his. How perfectly her fingers curl around his palm, how his thumb brushes like a feather over her knuckles. “You have nothing to thank me for.”

And he means it.

“I’m the one who got you into this mess. I’m the one who let them-” he breaks off, unable to form the words, his resentment building a dam in his throat, “But I promise you, I’ll never let it happen again. I’m not going to let anything like that happen ever again.”

Her expression breaks, like she wished she could believe him but knows she can’t ever dare hope. “More dangerous people have promised me less.”

His lips curl into that familiar crooked grin, “Yeah? Well they haven’t been me.”

She brushes her finger across his hand, rubbing small circles. “None of this was your fault Don.”

She cuts him off before he can protest with a sharp squeeze, “I don’t wanna hear it.” She says in mock sternness, “But for the record, right back at you. I don’t want anything happening to you either.”

There’s a pull in his chest, like they’re in their own orbit and all he wants to do is collide. The heat from her hand spreads across his whole body and all he wants to do is hold her and hold her and press her so tight he could feel her heartbeat echo inside his. Instead, he lets go of her hand.

“Good night Liz.”

She looks disappointed. “Good night Don. Tell Agnes that I love her.”

* * *

Agnes runs to him when he walks through the door. “Is mom okay?? What happened!”

“Hey little lady.” He greets, voice softening. He crouches down, expression gentle, “Your mom’s going to be fine. She’s just getting some rest and she’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

Her lip wobbles and Ressler sets a steady hand atop her head, “Trust me Agnes, nothing can keep your mom down for long.”

She sniffs, rubbing at her eyes, “So she’s really okay?”

Ressler nods. “She’s going to have a little trouble walking for a bit because she hurt her leg, but with enough time, that’ll heal just fine. I promise.”

She looks up at him with those wide glistening eyes and there’s so much trust in them Ressler can’t help but feel overwhelmed. He coughs, standing up abruptly, nodding at Yue. “Thanks. For the overtime.” He adds lamely.

She nods, “Elizabeth will be returning tomorrow?”

He nods back and she picks up her things, smiling down at Agnes, “Thank you for painting with me today Agnes.”

Agnes smiles- small but present- and when Yue’s gone, Ressler gestures to the kitchen, “You eat yet?”

Agnes nods, “Yue made soba noodles. She made extra for you too.”

“She deserves a raise.” He replies immediately, digging in with gusto.

Agnes loiters around him, half-heartedly colouring in her colouring book and Ressler taps her lightly on the head. “What’s on your mind kiddo.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question and Agnes looks up at him before quickly looking away.

“Are you worried about your mom?” He asks, gentler this time.

She nods slowly, like she’s ashamed. Her eyes well with tears and she flushes from embarrassment, wiping furiously at her face. “Hey, hey now.” Ressler rushes to say, getting out of his seat to kneel in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face.

She keeps her gaze buried between her knees. “It’s okay to cry if you’re worried Agnes. You don’t have to hide it.”

“I just don’t understand. Why is she hurt??” she cries, voice wobbling.

Ressler’s quiet a moment, withdrawing his hands. “Your mom and I, you know we work together at the FBI right?”

Agnes nods.

“Well, we work together to find bad guys and bring them to justice. Sometimes that means we have to be in dangerous situations.” Agnes stiffens and Ressler wonders if Liz will kill him for this, but he’s never been a liar and he certainly doesn’t believe in sugar coating. But he tries to paint a softer picture.

“But I don’t WANT her in dangerous situations!” She yells, face flushed and swollen.

“I know. Me neither. I want to keep your mom safe more than anything. I’ll do everything I can.”

She sniffs again, rubbing her nose with one hand and extending the other. “Promise.”

She holds out a pinkie and Ressler can’t help but smile. “Promise.”

She holds his gaze before she nods. “Okay. I’m ready for bed now.”

“Well isn’t that a first.” He teases and laughs when she scrunches her face.

He picks up a story book without her asking and he stays and reads to her until she falls asleep and the only sound in the room is their breathing.

* * *

Their routine after that is so domestic it’s almost ridiculous. Liz is on bedrest for at least a week. She hates it- obviously. And it strikes Ressler as karma because he just _knows_ he was the same when this happened to him.

“Liz, for the last time, I’m not going to _sweet-talk_ Cooper.” He says with a groan, spreading peanut butter across some bread.

“Why _not_.” She presses, “Just tell him he’s amazing or something, I don’t know. Aren’t you a kiss-ass?”

He stops mid spread, glaring at her. “ _Really_ Keen?”

She laughs into her coffee, smiling at Agnes. “Hey sweetie, you ready for school?”

Agnes sighs dramatically, “We have show and tell today. And I don’t have anything interesting.”

“Leaving things to the last minute I see.” Ressler jokes, giving her a mock look of disappointment.

Liz flashes her a look, “Agnes, we’ve talked about this.”

“I knowwww.” She moans, “But there’s nothing! I’ve spent like- a million years thinking about it.”

“A whole million.” Ressler whistles, “Wow.” He shrugs, lips turning up, “I mean, I’d give you my gun but-”

“ _Ressler_.”

He snickers, putting Agnes’ lunch in her lunchbox and packing his own. “You just have to pick something meaningful to you. Something with a lot of memories.”

“Well what would _you_ pick.” She prods and Liz raises a brow.

Ressler doesn’t even need to think about it. “Not sure if you realized this little lady. But all my stuff burnt to ash.”

Agnes squeaks, torn between wanting to laugh at his tone and feeling bad. “There’s nothing you really really love Agnes?” Liz presses, smoothing her daughter’s hair.

Agnes rocks back and forth in her chair before running to her room and coming back with a princess doll. It was a little worn, the hair frayed and the dress ripped in one little place. Liz’s expression crumples for just a second, like she was caught in a bad dream she thought had been over. “Princess Lulapalooza!” Agnes announces.

“What’s the story?” Ressler asks, throwing on his jacket.

“Mommy bought me so many princess stuff when she got to take me back home, and this one was my favourite! And I love it because it reminds me of mom.”

Ressler looks at Liz, she’s trying hard to keep it together. He can tell by the firmness of her jaw that prays not to tremble and tremble and never stop. “That’s a really good story.” He says softly.

“How about you go put on your outdoor stuff. We’ll leave in a second.”

  
“Okay!”

Ressler walks around the island, standing in front of his partner. “Hey, you alright?” he murmurs.

She blinks, shaking her head slightly, like dispelling a bad thought. “Yeah.” She whispers back, smiling that watery smile, “I just- I knew she remembered that, but I didn’t think she’d _really_ remember you know?”

“Kids never fail to surprise me.” Ressler agrees, “But it’s not a bad story. And it seems like it’s a happy memory for her.”

“Yeah. But for me…” there are shadows in her eyes that Ressler thought she had hidden away for good, “I never want to feel that way again.” She whispers. “ _Never._ ”

“Uncle Don!! I’m ready!!”

Ressler turns his head, before looking back at Liz helplessly. She smiles, laughing at him, “Go on.”

Honestly, it’s his own ineptitude that gets him. Inside him are a thousand emotions that were impossible to break down into bits small enough for words. A thousand things too complex and foreign for him to admit to himself, let alone the world. Let alone Liz.

So he nods. And takes Agnes to school and then goes to work and thinks about how even though no person could ever guarantee it, he’s already decided that nothing was ever allowed to happen to Liz ever again.

* * *

November fades into December in a blur and the world is alight with decorations and Christmas trees and carols of all kinds. Liz is on a cane, but she’s back to work and that’s what matters. They’re working a case- shockingly, not a Reddington one. There’s a serial killer at large and since the other teams have their hands full, the taskforce was running point.

He’s doing the grunt work of combing through the victim files to identify any commonalities when Samar walks through his door looking amused. Amused at _his expense_ he’s sure. He’s already suspicious and only gets more so when she holds out a bowl with two folded up papers inside.

He looks down at it and then up at her. “No.”

“Yes.”

“ _No._ ”

She shakes the bowl. “Listen Ressler. We can either do this the hard way or the easy way. And I don’t really have time for the hard way.”

“Then feel free to leave. The door’s right there.” He points and scowls when she doesn’t move.

“Look,” she says, “I wouldn’t be the one doing this if Aram wasn’t terrified that you’d smack the bowl out of his hands like a tantrumming toddler.”

“So this was _his_ idea then.” He says darkly.

“No actually, it was his and Liz’s.” She says, smirking at his surprise. “They were talking about how so much has happened the past few years and how it’s strange how it’s been peaceful the past couple months.”

He blinks, thinking about it. No one had almost died. No government wide conspiracy was discovered. No one was in jail. And perhaps more importantly- since all of those tended just to be a side effect- Red and Liz had settled into a perfectly harmonious relationship.

“They wanted to celebrate. Commemorate a good moment while it lasts.” She catches his eye, gaze steady, “I think we can both understand that.”

He groans, throwing his hand into the bowl with perhaps an exaggerated anger, “Fine. But if I get your name I’m putting it back.”

But they both know he wouldn’t.

He pulls out his paper, giving Navabi a look like she’s free to leave and she takes the final one, opening it up slowly- to torture him he’s sure. “Well, well, well.” She says, giving him a meaningful look.

“You’re going to get me coal aren’t you?”

She laughs, smile widening when Liz walks in, who raises her brows like she’s surprised, “Wow, you actually got him to do it huh?”

Navabi smirks, giving Ressler one last amused look before walking out the door. Liz waits until she’s gone before she leans on her desk, a conspiratorial grin spreading across her face, “So, who do you have?”

Ressler makes an ‘oh really’ face, stretching back in his chair, “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to say Keen.”

“Oh please.”

Feeling like he’s enjoying himself more already, Ressler just shrugs, blatantly having fun at her expense. “Guess you’ll find out when everyone else does.”

She glares. “Fine. You have any ideas?”

Ressler swivels a little, glancing back down where the paper is nestled into the palm of his hand. “A few.”

Liz sighs, falling into her seat, “Wanna give me one? I suck at getting gifts.”

“I _am_ amazing.” Ressler’s eyes crinkling.

Liz clicks her tongue, “Don’t know where I said that.”

“The key to gifts is just being observant.” Ressler says, twirling a pen in his fingers. “You have to predict what they want before they ask for it.”

Liz has a wry smile, “This isn’t a case Ressler.”

“Contest then.” Ressler says, feeling a bit more pep in his step, “The person with the best gift wins.”

Liz makes a face, but she’s intrigued- he can tell. “How can we even tell who has the best?”

He makes a noise in the back of this throat, “Please Keen. We’ll know. You doubt my methods now, but you’ll see.”

She doesn’t look all that convinced, but he knows he has her hooked. “Fine.” She says slowly, “But what’s the winner get?”

“Loser writes the winner’s mission reports.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Two weeks.”

She groans, “Evil.”

“Then win.” He suggests pleasantly, “Except that you won’t. But you can try.”

She narrows her eyes, pointing her pencil at him like a weapon, “I’m bringing you down.”

He snorts, “In your dreams Keen.”

* * *

So maybe he might’ve over-exaggerated his gift buying skills just a little. A smidge. A tad really. All in all, it’s no big deal. He has three weeks to figure it out. In the meantime, it’s still business as usual- so taking down scumbags and smugglers and all-around psychos. But, there’s a peaceful quality to the Post Office now, a sort of grounded quality remniscient of all the ash settling after bursts of lava and smoke. They’d suffered years of devastations and heartbreaks and earth-shattering moments and now it felt like they could finally come out of their shelters and start sweeping away the embers to start life anew.

It felt almost, like they were in a bubble that couldn’t be touched. Like the outside world was finally no longer a threat and they could continue on to live just like this- happy. Safe. _Normal_.

Although, perhaps any day working with Raymond Reddington could never really be normal. But it was about as close as any of them were ever going to get. And it’s still just as thrilling, as he and Navabi break down a door to storm into a townhouse moonlighting as a communications centre for a smuggling ring for poached goods.

Liz is back in the office working with Aram to trace shipping networks and log the dates and times with manifests to find which boats were used for what. The four of them work seamlessly together, and while he may not always agree with the taskforce’s mandate and their missions, he knows he’s lucky to have found a team who he’d go to hell and back with.

It’s kind of just his luck then, that he really does end up in hell- only, he’s all on his own and there’s no one coming to save him- when he gets into a fight with some two-bit watchdog and his thumb ends up snapped. He howls, biting back the sharp jolt of pain as he tackles the man to the floor, rolling around until he gets a good enough angle to clock him right in the jaw. It’s a hard enough hit that the guy’s too dazed to move and more than enough time for Ressler to get his gun out into his face and order him to stay put.

His thumb throbs and it’s stupid- he knows its stupid- but there’s blood pounding in his ears and all he can see is his hand curled around his car as he slams the door over it. He’s breathing hard, his vision narrowing like his brain is dropping chunks of his sight until all he can really focus on is his thumb.

He’s dimly aware of the yelling around him, of the pounding of feet and flashes of light and all of the sudden there’s someone pulling on his shoulder and he turns around- almost groggy- to see Samar, brows knit together in concern. “Ressler. Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t know what to say. Of course he’s fine. It was just a break. Maybe even a sprain if he’s lucky. It’s nothing. It’s _nothing_. It’s- It’s all in his head. All of it is just-

“I’m fine.” He grunts, forcing his body to move.

She doesn’t believe him, gaze flicking down to his hand, “You’re hurt.” She says plainly.

“It’s nothing.” He bites, pulling his hand against his chest protectively like he’s trying to hide it from sight.

He walks past her before she can say anything. He waits outside the building, waiting for the moment the sharp air will jumpstart his brain and he’ll be normal again but it doesn’t happen. He doesn’t even understand what’s happening. He doesn’t understand even the half of it. Maybe other people felt their knees shake when they were reminded of the worst versions of themselves but he’d already acknowledged that part of him. He’d _overcome_ that part of him. So what was it doing haunting him now?

He wasn’t in danger. He wasn’t falling apart at the seams. There was no grief he was trying to overcome, no deeper hurt he was trying to quash.

But his thumb was on fire and all he could think about was how much he loved those pills. How much peace he felt deep down in his bones. How this whole bullshit of feeling settled and calm was just that- bullshit. That none of it compared to the blissed out feeling he’d get when he took those meds.

He felt like he could handle anything because he never had to feel any of it. The world could’ve burned and he wouldn’t have flinched even when the flames licked at his own skin.

He hasn’t craved those pills in a long, long time. An addict’s an addict, for life, forever, for always, but the throbbing _want_ \- that was a flux. The last time he’d felt such a desperation for numbness was when he thought Liz had died. And that- he clenches his fist. He can’t think about that. Because then he’ll think about how he had let so much harm come to so many of the people that he loved and that he’d never be good enough- for himself, for his team, for the people he loved too much.

He was never ever going to be enough. And this- whatever _this_ was- just proved it. He doesn’t understand why the world has just crashed down the way it has, only that the sky is no longer high above but pressing down on his head and he can’t really breathe from how badly he wants just a _taste_ of those pills.

Mostly, he just realizes that all he can really do right now is let life happen to him.

He lets the medic team take him to the hospital. He lets them usher him into a room where a doctor runs an X-ray and starts examining his hand. He lets them set it back, keeping his thumb in place with a splint and then the doctor hands him a prescription.

Ressler looks at it like he’s being held at gunpoint. He can hear his breaths, hear his heart skip three beats, feel the shake in his hands and has this insane thought of grabbing the paper and _running_ out the door as if anyone would be trying to stop him.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, sees Liz’s name pop up in a text bubble. _What happened?? Are u ok?_

He closes his eyes. And suddenly he’s back in those horrifying woods and he’s surrounded by dead bodies brought back to life in the most horrible of ways and his hands are shaking and shaking and he can’t stop he _can’t stop_ and suddenly he’s being chased and he’s heaving and he thinks he’s going to die until suddenly he doesn’t. And Liz is there. Pressed up against him while he cried and cried and cried.

“Thanks doc.” He struggles to speak, his voice so hoarse it’s pathetic, “I’m good.”

And he forces himself off the chair, walking out the door, not really sure if anyone’s calling his name or not, just knowing he needs to get out of there before he turns back around and does something he regrets.

He stumbles out of the hospital, flagging a taxi, mind everywhere else. He stares out the window of the cab, running through all the scenarios, trying to force himself to focus, begging himself to stop holding his own self hostage, starting back at square one. He feels frazzled, thrown completely off kilter.

He can’t stop thinking about that prescription.

It was so _close_. He was so close. He could’ve had it. Just a little. His thumb was broken. It hurt like a son of a bitch. He deserved it. He _deserved_ it. And he would stop. After the bottle was done. Because by then his hand would have healed and he’d be fine and there wouldn’t be any more pain to hide.

(deep down, he knows he’s a liar. Because there’s always more pain to hide. It never ended. It just didn’t)

His phone buzzes again.

Liz: _????_

He wants to reply. Honestly he does. But he doesn’t even know what he would say. And he’s almost there anyway and- actually. He doesn’t want to reply. He doesn’t want to see her. Wants to talk to her even less. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Doesn’t want anyone to _know_.

He just wants to wallow in a pit of self-pity and loathing and everything in between.

But there’s still a smuggler out on the loose and there’s still a job to be done and he really _would_ have nothing to show for his life if he couldn’t at least do that. Just that. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting when he walks into the Post Office, but seeing an uneasy Samar and Aram with Liz nowhere in sight isn’t it.

“Agent Ressler! You’re back!” Aram looks relieved, perking up from behind his desk, “How’s your hand?”

Ressler grunts, shrugging as though to say it was all fine.

“You seemed off in there today.” Samar says, but she’s not accusatory, she’s almost gentle, if a word like that could ever be attributed to their friendship.

Ressler doesn’t look at her. “We got the guys didn’t we. That’s what matters.”

She doesn’t push and Aram looks between the two of them like he’s feeling the most awful sense of déjà vu. “Am I…missing something?”

“No.” Ressler replies right as Samar says, “Yes.”

He glares at her, determined to head right to his office when he stops, “Where’s Keen?”

That expression of discomfort returns to Aram’s face. “Liz uhh…well, she stormed off a little bit ago.”

That grabs his attention. “Stormed off? Why?”

“Turns out Mr. Reddington hadn’t exactly been honest about something and she just found out.”

Ressler laughs but there’s no humor in it, “Surprise, surprise.”

He leaves without waiting for a reply, just settles into his office, throwing himself down into the chair angrily. There’s a certain kind of aggression that swells inside of him and he isn’t even sure why. All he knows is that he’s resentful and mad and all kinds of frustrated and nothing makes any _sense_ to him anymore.

He pulls out his phone, looking at the two messages Liz had sent before scowling and throwing his phone into his desk drawer. She could see for herself that he was alive and well when she came back.

Except, she doesn’t come back. And he heads back to her apartment because there’s no more work they can do on this file for now and because he’s sick of Aram’s worried stares and Navabi’s unwavering gaze and he just needs to get out he needs to get out.

There are so many deadlocked battles waging inside of him and all he craves is that dampening feeling, a quiet tempering, an invitation at blankness when he’s just a mess of blotched colours and mistakes. He almost can’t bear walking in, doesn’t want Agnes to see him like this- defeated and nervous and desperate.

But it’s late enough that Agnes has been put to bed and Yue gets up off the couch, assessing him briefly, before wishing him good night and leaving without another word. He doesn’t even care he just- doesn’t care. About anything. All he wants is to sleep.

But even when he tumbles into bed, he’s up by whispers of want and lies that tell him a little will be enough and that he’s strong enough to stop.

_You did it once,_ it says. As though the first time didn’t nearly cripple him.

_You can do it again_ , it tempts. As though it wouldn’t be worse the second time around.

He feels like he’s drowning. Like the world he’s tried so hard to keep shut out is flooding into him and he’s helpless against the rising tides. He just wants things to go back to normal. He wants to stop wanting things he knows he shouldn’t crave.

He just wants peace.

He tosses and he turns and gets nowhere. The front door opens and he stiffens. Liz is home. She doesn’t waste time taking off her coat and boots before she’s opening her own bedroom door just to close it, checking in to see if Agnes was asleep. He doesn’t hear her move for a second before she’s knocking at his door.

He doesn’t want to see her.

And yet he was so angry that he hadn’t before.

But he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling like this. He doesn’t even understand what he _wants_. So he does nothing. And she gives up quickly after.

He doesn’t understand why he feels hurt over things that he made happen.

* * *

The next morning, his body aches from the lack of sleep and his shoulder pulses from having been pressed against the wall at an angle for who knows how long. His back is drenched with sweat and when he moves his hand his thumb screams its presence. He clenches his jaw, lurching from his bed only to pause and try to hear if the shower was running.

He doesn’t want to see anyone.

Hearing silence, he strides into the bathroom working hard to not look anywhere but his destination and while he usually prefers a shot of cold in the mornings, he turns the dial to somewhere between warm and hot and sighs, pressing his forehead against the glass. He stands there under the water for a long, long time, before he feels calmed down enough to step out into the steam, wrapping a towel around his waist while he busied himself with brushing his teeth and working with his hair.

He can see Liz watching him from the corner of his eye as he heads back into his room and for some reason, the urge to hide his injury consumes him. He ignores it, slamming the door behind him and wincing as he does. What the fuck was wrong with him.

He gets dressed slowly, wondering how stupid it would look if he just loitered in his own room until it was time for them to go but then hates himself for being such a coward and walks out into the kitchen.

Agnes smiles at him when she sees him and he’s struck a little, by how just that one action can make him feel like all the other shit had never happened. Her smile falls though when she sees his hand, “Uncle Don! You’re hurt!”

He glances down like he was trying to see what she saw before he shrugs, dispassionate. “It’s alright, barely even hurts. I’m just keeping this on to keep the doctor happy.” He tries to be light, but it just doesn’t roll of his tongue right.

She doesn’t look convinced. Ressler waits a beat to see if Liz might say something but finds that he just can’t risk it so asks her instead, “I heard Red’s been keeping secrets again.”

She looks surprised at the question and goes back to chopping tomatoes, slower this time. “Yeah.” She confirms, “He had told me he wanted us to go after the Phantom because there’d be a power vacuum once he was gone that he thought he could fill.”

Ressler keeps his hands beneath the counter, even as she slides him over a plate of eggs and veggies. “But?”

“Well that’s what I wanted to know. But he told me it wasn’t my business.” He doesn’t really know how to catalogue the way she says that.

“So you went looking anyway.” He states, finally taking a bite.

Her lip curls in a regretful sort of half smile, “He wasn’t happy about it. But I felt like I had a right to know. Every time he tries to keep a secret from me, it’s always something that ends up-” she glances at Agnes, “something that comes up in a way no one wants it to.”

Yeah. He gets it. It’s always the same old song and dance with them. Red keeps a secret, it somehow ties into Liz’s past, those same ghosts come back to life, and someone usually dies.

“So I found out what it was and uh-” she looks embarrassed, ashamed even, “he was right.”

Ressler blinks. “He was _what_.”

She makes eye contact with him, eyes almost amused, “He was right. It wasn’t any of my business. Had nothing to do with me at all. I’m just,” she laughs drily, “ _that_ self-obsessed now I guess.”

He doesn’t say anything.  
  


“It’s good it wasn’t a Rostova family secret.” He finally musters and she smiles weakly at him.

They don’t really talk much to each other after that and the air is heavy. But maybe it’s just him. Maybe that’s just how it feels like when you’re dying. Like the whole world is bathed in light and you’re squinting in the dark.

He and Liz don’t speak in the car ride to work. There’s a song Ressler doesn’t know playing over the radio and Liz keeps looking at him and then her phone and then him again from the corner of her eye and Ressler just wants to pull the wheel or yell or something because he doesn’t understand why he’s so _angry_ and doesn’t understand why he wants to weep in Liz’s lap and why he wants to run away from her all at the same time.

He settles for running. Because he doesn’t think he’s confronted an emotional problem head-on in his life. He’s not wired that way. He just isn’t. And the second Aram gives him the lead he’s spent all night cracking, Ressler heads out without Navabi just to get away. He wishes he had something to steady his nerves, just something to settle him. Keep him grounded in something not as precarious as his feelings.

He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for this. Doesn’t know if he can do this.

When he was younger, all he wanted was for his dad to tell him he was doing a good job. And then when things went so terribly awry, he just wanted someone to tell him he was going to be alright. That things would be okay. That he was doing the best he could.

It’s a stupid affirmation. He knows it is. Because he’s always been the kind of person who knew exactly what to do in a crisis. He’s always known that he had the grit and the guts to make things right and to do what needed to be done. But in his weaker moments- when his legs shook from being everyone else’s sword and shield- to be held softly and be told he can let his guard down and for once, be the one taken care of…

Ressler squeezes his eyes shut.

It doesn’t matter. There wasn’t anybody who was going to tell him that. And there wasn’t anybody he would ask because he’s never asked anyone for anything and wouldn’t know how even if there was. He doesn’t know how to lay his armour down.

And he’s too afraid to ever try.

(it’s what he hates about himself the most. That he thinks he has so much courage but he’s a coward where it counts).

So he pushes away all those thoughts and all those conflicts and focuses on going to interrogate the Board of some wildlife charity and hope someone points him in the right direction. If he’s lucky, one of them is guilty and he gets the satisfaction of taking down another hypocrite in this world he now knows to be full of liars and villains.

* * *

They spend three days in this same limbo- with Ressler being irritable and everyone avoiding him like the plague. An agent lets their unsub go after being barrelled past in a hallway and Ressler rails into him like he’s personally murdered his mother.

Earlier that day, Aram asks him if he’s been doing okay and Ressler whirls around, fury in his eyes. “I’m FINE Aram! How about you stop butting into everyone else’s life and focus on actually doing your job.”

He doesn’t even recognize himself when he says it and regrets it as soon as he sees the hurt pool in his friend’s eyes. But he just can’t deal with it- or any of it- so he stalks away, slamming the door of his office shut.

Samar finds him later, expression cool. “You need to apologize.”

Ressler grits his jaw. “I know. I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“This isn’t a lecture. That would imply I care enough to teach you.” She crosses her arms, stare hard, “Whatever macho man routine you have going on right now needs to stop. Aram’s out there upset that he upset you as if he’s the one that did anything wrong.”

For someone who wasn’t trying to lecture him, it sure sounded an awful lot like one.

He doesn’t say anything and she gets the hint soon enough and leaves him be. He doesn’t understand the urge he has to smash his thumb across the table but he craves a burst of pain loud enough to drown out everything else and he just _wants his pills_.

But he can’t have them. And he can never have them. And there are so many things he wants and can never have and before he knows what he’s doing, his fist is through the wall and everything goes completely still in the shock. His knuckles are red and paint chips fall to the ground and Ressler steps back, in disbelief at what he’d done. The last time he felt this out of control, he’d thrown himself at Tom Keen and all but begged for a fight.

And with the worst timing of all time, Liz walks in the door, face set in a determined line until she sees his scraped hand and the hole and the disaster everything had become and just stares at him before her face hardens. “Okay. That’s it.” She declares, grabbing him by the arm and pulling.

He tries to tug his arm back but her grip is firm. “Hey. Keen. Let go.” He commands, voice rough but she shakes her head, dragging him to the elevator.

“No.”

“Keen I said-”

She whips around, furious. “And I said _no_.”

And her intensity is so off-putting that he’s slack-jawed. He lets her pull him into the elevator and watches as she presses the button for the garage. She doesn’t speak to him. Doesn’t even look at him.

“Where are we going.”

“Home.” Is all she says and Ressler’s too tired to argue anymore.

In the car, she pops open the glove compartment to pull out a little first aid kit. “Here.” She says, handing it to him, “Wipe up your hand while I drive.”

He does his task silently, a sort of detached feeling spreading through him. When they get to the apartment, Liz takes hold of his scratched hand, turning it over to inspect his clean-up job. Satisfied, she tightens her grip around his and walks him through the doors and up to her place. Her hold is like a tether. And for some reason, it makes him want to cry.

When they’re finally inside and Liz all but forcibly makes him sit on the couch, she turns to him, brows narrowed and says, “Okay. You’re going to tell me what’s been wrong the past few days and you’re going to tell me now.”

He stiffens, instinctively trying to hide his thumb. “Nothing. Is that seriously why you brought me here?” He moves to get up but she pulls him back down, refusing to let go of his arm.

“That’s exactly why I brought you here.” She confirms, searching his eyes for answers. “Don’t try and tell me you’ve been normal, because I know your normal and this isn’t it.”

He doesn’t really understand how he can crave someone to pull apart his defenses piece by piece but still try so desperately to hide so no one ever had the chance to.

“Just leave it Keen. It’s nothing.” And he pulls out of her grip, unconsciously covering his splint.

Which is a mistake, but Liz notices and her entire expression shifts. He knows she knows before she even has to say and the shame floods through him so strongly he’s breathless.

“Don-” she says, voice barely even a whisper.

“ _No_.” He doesn’t even recognize his voice, it’s scratchy and hoarse and wrong, “I’m not doing this.”

He can’t admit this weakness. He can’t show her how pathetic he really was. How little he’s ever changed. And that’s the thing isn’t it? That’s the whole thing. You can’t let someone close enough to stroke your hair and tell you everything was going to be alright without them seeing every scar that kept you up at night. And people were always so disappointing. No one ever cared enough. No one ever persisted. No one ever tried hard enough. So he leaves first so he doesn’t have to know if they ever tried to follow.

And when gets up, he’s set on making it out of the door but Liz is faster, blocking his path, looking like she was prepared to fistfight him rather than let him leave. “I don’t know how else to make this any clearer Don, but I care about you and I care about what happens to you and I want to help you when you need it. And you need it! Don’t LIE to me!” And the pain in her voice is enough to make him pause.

Her entire face is tight and there’s a tremor in her plea that reminds him that everyone she’s ever loved had done nothing but lie to her. For almost her whole life.

But if she had cared, she would have asked him when it all started.

“Drop it Keen. I know I haven’t had my head in the game. I’ll work on it okay?” he gives her that but she just gets even more frustrated.

“I don’t care about work! I care you about you!”

“Well you sure have a funny way of showing it!” It’s out of his mouth before he realizes it and his cheeks sting with the shame.

Her lips part and then close again. He thinks she might have looked defensive, but it disappears after only a moment. “I’m sorry.” She says and he’s so taken aback he can only stare.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” She repeats, dropping her stance, “That day when you got injured, I wanted to check on you myself but I got so caught up in Red and I-” she lets out a breath, rubbing at her brow with her palm.

“I can get so caught up in myself. I know I do. And it’s unfair to you and to everyone else. I should have prioritized you more. Because I know you prioritize me.”

He doesn’t really know how to answer any of that. Doesn’t even know if he even has the strength to speak.

“And then that next morning, after Agnes asked about your thumb, you just changed the subject and I thought you just wanted space. That you wanted me to give you some time, to sort through whatever it was and I didn’t want to push but,” she gives him a wry smile, “I guess the me being a bad profiler for everyone I actually care about streak continues.”

“You’ve been spiraling Don. I can see it. Everyone can see it. And I know you can too. And whatever it is, if it’s what I think it is. We can deal with it.” She steps towards him, eyes warm and steadfast and so full of love. She takes his hand with his broken thumb and holds it between both her own, “This happened last time too.” She whispers and every last bit of resolve inside of him crumbles.

His entire body trembles and he falls against her, head dropping to her shoulder as the tears he should’ve shed so much longer ago trail down his cheeks. She steps back from his weight but holds herself steady, her hands cupping the back of his head with a tenderness that makes him ache. “I got you.” She promises, rubbing small circles into his hair, “I got you.”

And he cries and he cries and he cries until he’s empty to the core and he cries until it all stops hurting and he cries because he can’t remember the last time anyone’s held him like that before. And when he’s done, he doesn’t want to lift his head and face the aftermath of whatever all this was but Liz runs a hand through his hair and tells him to sit down, “I’m going to make us a pot of tea and then we’re going to talk, okay?”

He nods, eyes red-rimmed and he collapses onto the couch, all the fight gone out of him. She returns and hands him a warm cup of jasmine green tea and he accepts it gratefully. It’s hard to start, but once he does, he finds that the words tumble out of him and Liz just nods beside him, moving closer at some point to rub his back.

He tells her about how he hates that he feels this way. That he doesn’t understand why it can’t just be over already. How much he wishes he could be a stronger person and how honestly he can’t stand how he’s been acting but he just didn’t know how to stop.

Throughout it all Liz tells him that he’s stronger than he thinks he is and more devoted to keeping on the right track than anyone she knows. That he’s going to make it through this and how she’ll be there right beside him and how she promises she won’t ever let him down.

“You’re going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. Because I’m not letting you be anything but that.”

And he’s reminded of his own promise to himself. And it feels so long ago but he knows his conviction hasn’t changed and just this once, he allows himself to believe that someone else’s determination is just as strong as his. He’ll allow himself to depend on this one person. Just this one.

He groans, dropping his head into his hands, “I need to apologize to Aram. And Samar.”

Liz lets out an amused breath, “Yeah, that would be good probably.”

She stands in front of him, eyes compassionate and warm, “But for now, just focus on pulling yourself out of your rut okay? This isn’t the end of you Donald Ressler.” And her hand is on his shoulder and her lips are on his forehead and his breath catches in his throat.

Her kiss is soft against his skin and when she pulls away, she smiles at him, like she hasn’t just softened his every edge.

When they head back to the Post Office, the first thing he does is find Aram, wanting to kick himself all over again at the apprehension in his face. “Hey Agent Ressler.” He greets nervously.

“Aram, I’m sorry about before. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that.”

Aram blinks, looking like he wants to disagree before he gives him a small smile, “Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have tried to push you at work like that. I’m sorry too.”

“No. Don’t be. I-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You were right, I was- I _am_ going through a hard time but it doesn’t excuse my behavior.”

Aram smiles gently at him, “I understand. And if you want to tell me about it, I’m always ready to listen.”

“I appreciate it.” Ressler replies and finds that he means it.

He sees Navabi staring at them across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He takes a step in her direction but she raises a hand as though to say don’t worry about it. So he gives her a small smile and she holds his gaze for a moment before she nods at him, her former frostiness gone.

Liz calls for him, “Hey Ressler, I got a lead.”

And things go back to normal pretty quickly after that.

* * *

It’s been a struggle, but Ressler goes back to group and he rebuilds his confidence that he can be a better man. It’s a steady process, but it’s the little things that help, like Liz swerving into the mall entrance with all the drama of the theatre. “It’s Christmas next week.”

“…Yes.” He says, confused.

“ _Yes_ and I haven’t bought Agnes a present yet. Or my secret Santa’s.” She insists, looking at him with a rising panic.

“Oh shit.” He’d forgotten.

She waves her hand around like SEE?? And he nods, “Okay, Agnes first and then split up for secret Santa?”

They scramble out of the car, making a beeline for the Kids Time store inside. Liz is intent on buying her a specific dollhouse Agnes mentioned wanting a little while ago but Ressler’s a bit more flexible. He wanders through the shelves, not really finding any of the flashy boxes and giant new toys all that interesting. He ends up in the books and puzzles section, something catching his eye. He picks up a box with a storybook on the cover and immediately grins.

“Hey Liz!” He calls, jogging over to her, “You think Agnes would like this?”

Liz takes it from his hands, turning it over to read the back before she looks at him like she’s ridiculously fond of him. It makes something dopey flood through him and he can’t help but smile back, caught in her eyes. “She’s gonna love it.” She murmurs, eyes flicking for just a second to his lips.

He forces himself to look away, gesturing around them, “You find the dollhouse?”

She groans, spinning to face the shelves, “They have everything in the world but not this one house.”

Ressler mulls it over for a second before pulling out his phone, “Here, google whether Toys R Us has it, I’ll ask the cashier if any of their other locations has it in stock.”

Liz takes the phone, watching him ask the teen worker if he can go through all the other branches on his computer and feels her heart squeeze. He’s too good to her. He’s always been so good to her. Even in the beginning when he still didn’t know whether he could trust her, he had held her so steadily when she broke down after facing her death in the most horrific of ways.

She’s always appreciated his existence in her life. But now, the way she feels for him is so all consuming she doesn’t know what to do with it. All she knows is that she needs him so much more than she ever could have thought. And more importantly than that, she wanted him to need her just as much.

He returns, a spark in his eyes. “Ok, so there’s a branch out in Maryland we can go to-”

She can’t help the incredulous laugh, “That’s more than an hour away.” She’s smiling because she already knows what he’s going to say and loves him for it. He doesn’t even hesitate with the ‘we.’

He gives her a look, “Because we had so many evening plans right?”

She laughs again, shaking her head, looking at him like he’s the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. “You serious?”

“Definitely.”

“I guess we’ll have to get our secret Santas later then.” She sighs and he flashes her that crooked grin she adores.

“You still have no ideas huh?”

“Hey, I have a few.” She pushes against his arm with her shoulder playfully and resists the urge to loop her arm through his own.

“Sure you do Keen. Just admit you’re going to lose and call it a day.”

“I hope you know I’m counting down the days before I can throw your words in your face.”

They play Christmas carols in the car and Liz makes a game of how many exasperated expressions she can draw out with her bad karaoke and she teases him over his road rage which he insists is utterly necessary and even though they come home three hours later, she can’t but feel this is the happiest she’s felt in a long time. Every moment is special when it’s with the right person.

It’s the little things.

“What are you so happy about?” Ressler asks, eyes sparkling.

Liz shrugs and then smiles. “Nothing. Just happy.”

* * *

December 23 rolls around and the entire office is dialing down. There are sprigs of pine and holly bursting from cup holders or taped to desks and someone had brought in a giant cannister of hot chocolate from a neighbouring café. Somehow- and Ressler doesn’t quite know how or when- but Aram’s smuggled in a miniature Christmas tree, complete with tiny lights and sparkly ornaments. It’s a little funny honestly, seeing all the real-sized presents stuffed around it, all but overcrowding its holiday cheer.

There hasn’t been a Blacklister in days and a part of Ressler wonder if it’s on purpose- a little gift of Red’s own. But he won’t look a good thing horse in the mouth. It’s easy to forget that they do in fact, have other tasks they need to accomplish on any given day, and it’s nice to have a quiet chunk of time to hash them all out.

Liz grins at him as she peeks past her computer screen. He can’t help but smile back, caught up in her giddiness, “Keep it in for ten more minutes Keen.” He jokes, glancing up at the time.

Their little holiday party’s scheduled for 5:30 and ever since Liz placed her surprisingly perfectly wrapped gift under the tree, she’s been non-stop excited. “I’m sorry I’m looking forward to winning.” She says completely unapologetically.

“Cockiness doesn’t suit you.”

“Sorry, wouldn’t want to step into your territory.” She shoots back and he snorts.

“Sticks and stones Liz. I almost feel bad for you. I was guaranteed to win from the get-go.”

She peers at him and he freezes. Oh _great_ \- “You have Aram!” she yells, laughing as he groans.

“And that’s textbook hubris.” She gloats, getting up and gesturing for him to do the same, “Come on, we might as well pop in a little early.” As if walking out into the main floor was much of a trek.

As the end of the day ticks by, the room fills with more people, everyone drinking hot chocolate- spiked or not- laughing amongst their colleagues and inquiring about holiday plans. The four of them meet at Aram’s desk, their usual meeting point. Samar’s eyes are warm as she nods at them, “That’s a wrap then.” She says looking around them, “It’s been a pleasure.” She jokes, her formality making them smile.

“Looking forward for more to come.” Liz raises her cup and the four of them clink their own against each other’s, the whole world shrinking down to just this one moment.

“Should we take the tree out of its misery?” Ressler jokes, laughing at the slight defensiveness in Aram’s eyes.

“Hey! It’s trying its best!”

Samar wraps an arm around him, “Of course it is.” She smiles, pecking him on the cheek until he returned it.

“Okay, so I thought we could just pick a person at random and go from there.” Aram suggests, ignoring his own advice and plucking a meticulously wrapped box complete with an abundance of ribbons and passing it to Samar.

“It’s seems a bit unfair that you got Samar.” Liz comments teasingly as Aram blushes.

“I didn’t rig it if that’s what you mean.”

Samar takes the gift from him, amusement dancing in the corners of her eyes, “I don’t think you were all that disappointed though.” She says, “But I can’t wait to open it.”

She unwraps her present, her curiosity clear for all to see as she opens the box up only for her eyes to widen. She pauses, stroking the contents with one finger before she looks up, loving and sad and overwhelmed. “How did you-”

“I remembered it from those photos you showed me, when you were telling me about your family. You mentioned that your mom loved that statue and I just thought that it would be nice if you had something more to remember her by.” He suddenly looks uncertain, taking a tiny step back, “Wait it doesn’t bring up any bad memories does it? Because I can totally just return it and get something better no worries-”

But Samar’s smiling. It’s heavy with a grief that would never truly rest, but one that opened a door to a lifetime of happy memories of a time before. “No, I love it. Thank you.” She says meaningfully, pulling the statue up to show the rest of them.

“It’s a Persian Griffin, it’s part of the old mythology, used to protect yourself against evil and witchcraft. My father never liked these kinds of things, it’s a tad anti-Islamic, but my mother always loved symbolic things. She used to have one just like this.” Samar traces the contours of the clay, lost in another time.

“It’s beautiful.” Liz says while Ressler nods beside her.

“It’s probably a lot better than my gift.” Samar laughs, “I suppose I’ll go next.” Tucking the statue back inside the box.

She picks up a little package, more like an envelope, and turns to Liz, grinning “Merry Christmas Liz.”

“I’d never have guessed.” Liz smiles as she opens the envelope up to pull out a certificate.

“I was trying to think about what you value most and thought that some bonding time with Agnes might be my best bet.” Samar explains, looking a little sheepish, “Unfortunately, I’m not as wonderful as Aram is in getting gifts, but this one also comes with a promise from me to cover for you if work gets in the way.”

Liz’s eyes shine, “No Samar, this is- this is _perfect_.” She says sincerely, “Agnes is still pretty into her princess phase, I’m sure she’d love to be pampered like one. And God knows I wouldn’t mind.” She jokes, showing Ressler the certificate for a Mommy-Daughter spa day.

“Thank you.” Liz repeats, leaning in for a hug before that familiar excitement bursts inside her, “Okay, my turn. Ressler, be ready to be wowed.” She announces and even though it realistically should’ve been obvious at this point, he can’t help but be surprised.

For all her cockiness though, she looks a little nervous, handing him a box that he can now tell had been wrapped and rewrapped until she got it right. He can tell by the bits of white peeling from the edges and the creases she’d tried to smooth over. He doesn’t say anything as he opens it, already knowing what he’ll find as he sees the brand name on the box’s cover. “Liz-”

“Open it.” She insists, staring at him intently.

He slides the cover off, taking in the brown leather of the strap and the gold face. When the fire burnt down his place, it took with it a lot of his sentiments, prime of which was the watch he’d gotten as a preteen from his parents. The watch itself was nothing that special, but they had told him that every man needed a watch and now he was well on his way to becoming one.

He took those words seriously- as he always did maybe. That commitment to be a good man stuck with him his whole life and though a watch is just a watch, it reminded him of his parents’ words that day. Of their belief in him. Of their dreams for where he’d be and who he’d become.

It’s funny then, that the person he now looked to like a lighthouse was giving him that same token. The person he wanted to become, where he wanted to go, he hadn’t realized how much of that was pegged on Liz until she hands him this watch and smiles almost shyly as though anything she picked for him could ever be wrong.

“I know you lost the one you wore all the time in the fire and I thought maybe I could help fill the gap until you found something better.”

He shakes his head, his fingers tightening around the box, “This is great. Perfect even.” he makes sure she’s looking at him when he drops his guard and says, “Thank you Liz, I love it.”

She smiles at him, relieved, and for a moment, it’s only them, and Ressler wonders what would have happened if he had changed just his last word. He snaps out of his reverie when he catches Samar’s smirk and clenches his jaw, shaking his head ever so slightly before setting the watch down to turn to Aram. “Well, I guess your secret Santa isn’t so secret anymore.”

“What? I’m _so_ surprised. Don’t I look surprised?” Aram tries, widening his eyes comically as Liz laughs into her hand.

“Merry Christmas buddy.” Ressler says, handing him a box that Aram makes short work of. 

Aram only needs one second to look at it before fireworks are in his smile, “Where did you _find_ this?? I’ve been trying to look for one for ages and they were sold out everywhere!”

Aram can’t stop smiling and Ressler can’t help the surge of pride that runs through him. It felt good to not be the Grinch like he’d been accused of being so many times.

“Let’s just say I know a guy.” He says mysteriously, quirking up his brows at Liz to goad her.

She snorts, but can’t help but look happy at Aram’s excitement. “Anyone going to tell me what it is we’re looking at?” Samar asks, bending to look inside the box.

It’s nondescript, completely black except for a symbol Ressler doesn’t even know the secrets of on the top. “Uh, only the _best_ tech puzzle in existence??” Aram explains hurriedly, looking torn between wanting to dump the box’s contents on his desk and start that instant and treat it reverently. “Once every three years, they- and no I don’t know who- release this game. It’s like…it’s like those mind-teasers where you fit the pieces to be a cube, except it’s all electrical and there’s only one way all the pieces fit for you to make whatever cool thing they designed.”

Liz whistles, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It’s not work if it’s fun!” Aram insists before looking up at Ressler, “I feel like all my thank yous aren’t even close to how excited I am for this.”

Ressler smiles easily, “Here that Liz? He can’t even say enough thank yous.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh please.”

He’s going to antagonize her- playfully- some more when the elevator doors open and Red strides in dressed in a floppy Santa hat and a giant bag tossed over his shoulder. “Ho ho ho!” He greets, “I come bearing gifts!”

Dembe stands behind him, trying to hide his smile at his friend’s antics. “Merry Christmas everyone.” He greets quietly.

“You came!” Liz says, smile growing.

“And miss an incredible entrance? Of course I came.” Red plops his giant bag on a nearby table and looks up, “So, who wants to sit in Santa’s lap first?”

And Ressler can’t help it, he throws his head back and laughs.

Liz finds him as the party’s winding down, cocking her chin at his wrist where her watch sits proudly. “You really like it?” she asks, leaning on the table and looking at him.

“Really.” He confirms, “Enough to want to concede that you picked the best gift.” He says generously and she laughs, knocking her shoulder against his.

“The game was rigged the second I had you.” She confesses, “You were never going to tell me I sucked.”

“Do you want me to?” He jokes and she gives him that amused look he loves so much.

“I’m big enough to call a tie.” She declares, hopping off the table and looking at him.

“I can live with that.” He says slowly, “We always have next year to crush each other.”

She smiles wider, “Or birthdays.”

“We could plan an Easter egg hunt. Agnes can be the judge.”

“Are you using my kid as a pawn Ressler?” Liz leans in, trying to be threatening but all he can see is her painted lips.

“Depends, do you feel scared enough to concede?” he asks, voice dropping.

She stares at him, biting her lip ever so slightly before she pulls away like it takes every ounce of her strength to do it, “It’s on Agent.”

He watches her go and feels every bit of him clench to keep from running after her. 

* * *

It’s Christmas Eve and he’s on the couch reading with Agnes when Liz comes in front of them looking way too full of Christmas cheer. “I was thinking…”

It’s then Ressler notices what she’s hiding behind her back, a flyer he can just barely make out and he groans, “Not the Lights Tour.”

“Yes the Holiday Lights Tour.” She insists, “It’ll be fun! Come on Don, we want you to come with us, right Agnes?”

“Yeah! You have to come!!” Agnes repeats pulling on his arm.

He looks up at Liz helplessly and is caught by her hopeful stare and flushed cheeks. It hits him in that moment, that he would go anywhere with her if she asked. He wants to walk his whole life beside her and the name for his feelings start to surface but he crushes them down before he’s forced to acknowledge them.

“Uncle Don!!” Agnes stretches out his name and he smiles instinctively.

He grabs her waist lifting her off the couch as he gets up, spinning her down. “You wore me down.” He announces dramatically and she cheers.

“That’s the spirit.” Liz teases.

And they’re out in the streets of D.C with overly complicated light displays and giant panoramas and Agnes’ eyes are bright and everything she sees is the most beautiful thing. She doesn’t stop jumping around until they reach the National Christmas Tree, lit up in all its giant glory and her eyes go round with how impressed she is. “Mommy!! It’s so PRETTY!” She yells, running to get a closer look.

Ressler glances over to Liz, sees the sheen in her eyes and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Hey. I know that look.”

She wipes at her eyes quickly, shaking her head, “I know. I’m sorry I just.”

He squeezes her tighter, watching Agnes coo at all the lights, “Don’t apologize.”

He wants to promise her a world of happiness. Promise her years of only good things. But he doesn’t think she wants to hear a string of pretty words. So he settles for standing strong next to her, become a presence she knows she can always rely on.

Slowly, her arms come up to wrap around him from the side and her mouth is pressed against his collar, “You know I appreciate you right?”

“You could stand to say it more.” He jokes and he smiles when her laugh reverberates through his chest.

A sudden pressure against his legs jolts him from the moment and he looks down to see Agnes’ pout, “Hey! What about me!”

Liz laughs, bending down to hug her tight, “Christmas hugs for you too sweetie.”

“Should we be heading back? You want to get a good night’s rest for presents tomorrow.” Ressler says temptingly and Agnes jumps.

“We have to go now!! If I’m naughty Santa won’t give me any presents!” She says very seriously.

Ressler laughs to himself, catching Liz’s eye. “Good thing you’re a very good girl then.”

And a good girl she must be with the pile of presents that awaits her when she wakes up the next morning all energy and thrills. “Slow down Agnes, I want to film your thank yous for your aunts and uncles!” Liz laughs, holding up her phone.

Agnes grins toothily, ripping open Samar and Aram’s gift and shrieking with excitement, “Look at all the art supplies!” she shows the set to the camera before hugging it to her chest, “Thank you Uncle Aram! And Auntie Samar!”

She’s just as excited to open Red’s gift and her grandmother’s before she opens up Ressler’s with an expectant smile. She holds it up, examining it before Ressler sits next to her pointing everything out, “I remembered how much you like writing stories so I thought you could write your very own book.”

“A real book?” Her eyes shine.

He nods, “Yup, you write your story and draw your pictures and we send it to the company and they put it in a book with a hard cover and everything.”  
  


“Wow.” She stares at the gift again before she drops it, throwing her arms around Ressler tightly, “Thank you!!! I love it!”

He smiles into her hair, hugging her back, “Good. I’m looking forward to reading your story.”

She pulls away, digging under the tree before she pulls out a gift with his name written in her scratchy handwriting. He looks surprised, glancing at Liz who smiles encouragingly, still filming. “Is this for me?”

Agnes nods enthusiastically, “Mommy helped me get it.”

And it seems like him and Liz have similar ideas on what made a good gift because he unwraps it to find a mug with one of Agnes’ drawings printed on it. But when he looks at it, a lump in his throat rises as he sees three figures all holding hands all with big smiles on their faces.

“Do you like it?” Agnes asks, looking at him with big eyes.

“It’s the best gift ever.” He confirms and she brightens like a star.

“Merry Christmas Don.” Liz says and he feels like the entire world is contained to just this room.

Ressler looks up at her through his lashes before he reaches around the tree to the present he’s hidden and hands it to her, “Merry Christmas Liz.”

Her eyes widen, “What? When did you even get this?”

He smirks, “I’m a man of many talents.”

She keeps that exasperated looking of fondness right until she pulls the lid off the box and sees the little gold hoops. She touches them lightly before looking at him, “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a thank you, you know.” He gestures around, “For everything.”

Her lip curls up into a smile and her expression is tender. “Well I love them.” And to prove it, she takes out her current pair and clasps the new ones on, “What do you think?”

He looks a little starstruck, but he manages a, “Great. They suit you.”

Those little words are enough for her to smile, tucking her hair behind her ear.

His heart skips a beat.

Oh fuck.


	3. The Cold

The feelings he tries to keep robbed of a name bubble at the surface, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment. It might not have been so bad if spending their Christmas break together hadn’t changed something fundamental in their relationship. The razor thin boundary that had protected them for so long hadn’t just been crossed; it had been mercilessly dashed and now he isn’t sure if he hasn’t just always felt this way.

The new year approaches and he’s desperate to start it off on a note that won’t end everything he and Liz had worked so hard to build. His relationship with her is the most important one he has and if he ever did anything to risk it…He can’t even contemplate it. 

He’s all set with his convictions and determinations until New Year’s Eve actually comes upon them and he gets stuck with an overly aggressive cold that knocks him right out. His head feels like it’s just full of drills and hammers and his sinuses are so clogged he fantasizes about cutting them right out of his face if it would give him even an ounce of relief.

The taskforce had planned to clock in the new year together but by the end of the workday, Ressler can’t stand to be in a suit for a split second longer and he just wants to lie on his bed like a corpse and press something near freezing to his forehead.

Liz keeps giving him concerned glances and it’s not like he’s trying to worry her, but he’s pretty sure he looks like death and the way his friends are avoiding him like the plague, he’s sure they notice. Liz waits until the clock hits five on the dot and then gets right in his face, “Come on soldier, we’re going home.”

“No it’s fine I’ll take a cab.” He tries to wave her off, “You need to stay for the party.”

“ _Ressler_.” She says in that way where she wants him to know how annoying he’s being, “I’m taking you home, let’s go.”

His head hurts too much for him to fight her off and he lets her lead him to the car where he collapses into it with so much relief he know he’s pissed Liz off. And right on cue, “I don’t know why you came in today.” She berates him and he waves a hand.

“I’m _fine_.”

“ _Ressler_.”

“Ok. Maybe I’m not perfect. But I’m _functional_.”

She glares at him and he refuses to back down. She sighs. He grins. It’s a small victory but he’ll take what he can get. “You make me want to throw you out into traffic.” She deadpans.

“You could.” He offers, “But you’d just jump in after me.”

“Oh shut up.”

In the apartment, she settles him down on the couch, pressing him down until he concedes, “So you can be where I can see you.” She glares when he tries to protest and checks his temperature.

“You probably have the flu.” She says, looking mildly uncertain, “I don’t think you get a fever with a cold.”

Ressler doesn’t know and he doesn’t care because suffering by any other name is still just _suffering_. But he must’ve said that out loud because Liz just rolls her eyes, “You didn’t complain this much when your leg was literally blown out by a bunch of terrorists, but a flu has you waxing poetic.”

“I’m dying Liz.” He insists.

She lets out an aggrieved breath, “No, you’re trying to fight off a virus.”

Five minutes later, she’s wringing a cold facecloth over a bowl before pressing it against his forehead. He can’t help the little moan he makes and she softens a little, smoothing it over his brow. “I’m gonna get you Advil Cold okay? And I have some soup cans I’ll make. Try and sleep.”

He remembers swallowing the pill she gives him but not much else. He must have fallen asleep because when he wakes up, he hears Agnes’ voice in the background and Liz answering all her questions. He blinks and feels his forehead- the compress is still cold. Liz must’ve changed it when he was out.

The thought warms him right back up and that’s when he notices there’s a blanket thrown atop him and his tie is on the coffee table, a t-shirt waiting for him. He can smell the distinct scent of chicken noodle and hear Liz’s quiet muttering to herself as she tries not to let it stay on the stove too long and risk it burning.

He knows right then that he loves her.

It’s her ecstatic “Yes!” when she tastes the soup and finds it’s perfect that he can’t help but shout it in his own mind. He loves her. He loves her. He’s _in love_ with her. The admission sets his world aligned, like all the bending over backwards to avoid the truth had everything skewed and everything suddenly makes sense.

Of all the times to realize he’s in love with his best friend, being so sick he can’t even move from the ache in his bones is as good a time as any. He’s so groggy he can’t even have the three heart attacks in succession he’s sure this realization deserves but when Liz comes up in his view, he’s sure he goes red- but he’s so sick he’s hoping she won’t notice. “Hey you.” She says trying to keep her voice low, “How you feeling?”

It’s then how he notices the lights are all off except a few soft lamps setting everything in a dewy gold glow. He appreciates her so intensely in that moment it’s a little ridiculous.

“Bad.” He mumbles and her lips curl up, but she still looks like she feels terribly for him.

“I made some soup, you think you can eat it?”

He thinks about it. Can he? “Think so.” He grunts, trying to sit up but his head spins from the vertigo.

Liz’s hands reach out quickly to steady him, supporting him as he shifts upward. “There you go.” She says, making sure there’s a pillow supporting his neck before turning around.

She returns with a small bowl of chicken noodle soup and he accepts it gratefully. She waits until he takes his first bite as though thinking he might just leave it there after all her effort. He glances at the time, it’s almost eight and he can’t help but feel guilty, “You should go.” He urges, gesturing to the clock, “I’m sure Agnes will have pity on me and go to bed easy. You should go to the party.”

She looks at him like she thinks he’s dumb and picks up the glass of water he had used to take the pill. “Don’t make me smack a sick man.” She threatens before she goes to fill it up.

“I don’t want you to miss out.” He insists and when she comes back, her expression is sweet.

“I’m not missing out. There’ll be other new years’ parties. Right now, you need someone to take care of you. Now eat.” She commands and helplessly, he obeys.

When it’s been four hours since the last dose, she gives him another pill and even though it isn’t drowsy, he feels himself fading again. Liz watches him from where she’s sitting next to him on the couch with more than a bit of exasperation. “Go to sleep Don.”

“I don’t need to.” He retorts childishly and she just shakes her head, reaching out a hand to press against his shoulder until his head drops down into her lap.

“Yes you do.” She says certainly, stroking a hand through his hair, “You’re worse than Agnes.”

“No ‘m not.” He mumbles, but her fingers through his hair are too soothing to fight against and he feels himself nodding off even as he tries not to.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to the sound of a thousand cheers. He blinks, for a second entirely unsure of where he is or what is happening until he sees Liz peering over him. “Hey.” She whispers, before glaring out the window.

“Hey.” He whispers back, rubbing at his eyes.

“I should’ve figured all the yelling would’ve woken you.” She seems almost upset by it, as though she could’ve singlehandedly stopped the world’s celebrations for him.

She’s still sitting with his head in her lap and he can see a book in her hand that she’s set down. He twists, pushing himself upward where he can just make out a cluster of multicoloured lights shooting across the night sky. “What time is it?”

Liz glances at her phone, “Ten to twelve.”

His lip pulls and he turns to her, an apology in his eyes, “I’m sorry you missed the party because of me.”

She shakes her head, earnest and sincere and so, so beautiful. “You know why New Years is special?” She smiles, “It’s because you get to choose who you end and start the year with.”

He swallows, watching how the gentle light of the lamp does beautiful things to the glitter in her eyes and the waves of her hair. “And honestly, I can’t think of a better person to do both of those things with.”

A chorus of cheering streams from outside and Ressler looks back at Liz, heart clenched. “Well, we could do a lot a worse couldn’t we?”

She laughs, shaking her head, “You’ve always been such a sweet talker.”

“You’re the one who criticized me for waxing poetic if I remember right.”

“I wouldn’t trust that memory. You were delirious.” She teases and there’s nothing about this moment that Ressler would ever want to change.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers as the clock inches past 11:59, “I would’ve wanted to spend the end of 2020 with you anyway.” And the clock strikes midnight and the fireworks light up the room and Liz leans in and presses a kiss right at the edge of his mouth.

“Happy New Year.” She murmurs, pulling away slower than the stretch of time, “It breaks tradition, but we can’t both get sick. Who’d microwave the takeout?”

He wants to close his eyes and breathe her in, but he can’t stop looking at the softness of her lips and the array of her lashes and those beautiful blue eyes he wants to fall into and never come out of. He wants to run his hands through her hair and whisper every single thing he’s grateful for.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he watches as a shadow dances in the corners of her eyes before she stands up, sliding her arm under his and around his back, “Let’s get you to bed.”

He grunts, leaning against her as his head swirls from the wooziness. She leads him to his bed taking extra care to go slow and set him down nice and slow. When she turns, he can see the earrings he bought her reflecting the faint moonlight and something unfurls in his chest.

“Liz.” He says and she turns to him, something unreadable in her eyes.

He’s going to tell her. He wants to tell her. It bubbles right to the tip of his tongue and his heart bats in his throat and then his gaze moves right past her, to the framed photograph on the side table in the living room.

He’s seen it so many times the actual image has just faded into the background. But it stares at him now, accusatory. It’s one of the few photos he knows Liz has of her family together before it all fell apart. Tom has his arm wrapped around her, an easy smile on his face. Liz holds Agnes between them, and her expression is so bright it’s painful.

He remembers then, those haunted eyes when he taught Agnes how to tie her shoes. Had it been long enough? How many days do you need to grieve before you let someone else fill all the holes in your heart?

What if she isn’t ready and he ruins them before they could ever be?

What if she isn’t ready and then she pushes him away?

All the excitement dies in his chest when he thinks they could both go back to that year after saving her from Kirk where they drifted around each other but never got too close. He doesn’t want that. He can’t deal with that.

“You guys should go to the celebrations tomorrow.” He says finally.

Maybe if he were more sure of anything that mattered, Liz would be curled into his side and he’d have his arm wrapped tight around her. But he’s always been too afraid of crossing bridges he can’t see the end of and so just like every night, he falls asleep alone and tries to convince himself it’s for the best.

* * *

Ressler takes two days to recover. Liz is at his side the whole time and he wrestles with what he’s supposed to do now that everything has changed. Today’s his last day at home- though it could’ve been yesterday if Liz wasn’t so damn persistent.

She calls him during her lunchbreak, “Hey Ress, how’re you feeling?”

He grunts, “You know I’m fine.”

He can practically _see_ her unimpressed face, “Well I thought we could go out for dinner tonight, since it’s probably inhumane to ask you to make anything.”

Hearing the smile in her voice is enough to lighten his mood and he laughs at her indignation when he says, “And it’s inhumane for you to do it.”

“Hey, I kept you alive the past three days haven’t I?”

“We don’t have any evidence I wouldn’t have healed faster alone.”

“Wow.” Her voice drips with sarcasm, “See if I ever help you again Don.”

“Aww come on, you were the best nurse I ever had.” He grins when he hears her little laugh, “For dinner, I’m game. Any place in specific?”

She makes a humming noise in the back of her throat, “Not really. Been craving Thai food though.”

“Thai’s great. Okay, should we meet there?”

She mulls it over, “No, I’ll come home and we can walk over together. I’ll text you.”

They say their goodbyes and Ressler looks out into the cityscape. This can be fine, he thinks. He’s supressed his feelings for such a long time that what’s another eon more. He wants to be with her and he knows, he _knows_ , that this isn’t the same but it could be enough couldn’t it?

He gets his answer when she texts him to come down. Hs signals for Agnes to put away her stuff and makes sure to slip on a fuzzy hat over her ears. “It looks freezing today.” He explains.

She nods seriously, “It was very, very cold today. Recess sucked.”

He frowns sympathetically, “Well that’s no fun.” He says, locking the door behind them.

“Yeah, and the worst part is those stupid boys keep throwing snowballs at us. They always do it when the teachers aren’t looking too so they never get caught.”

Agnes presses the button for the elevator without as much fervor as usual and Ressler frowns for real. “They bothering you?”

She nods sullenly and he ushers her into the elevator, “The next time they throw anything at you, you go and tell your teacher and bring everyone who saw what happened as proof and if they don’t believe you, tell them that I’ll be coming down to have a good talking to with them.”

She looks at her shoes for a minute before a little smile blooms at the edge of her lips, “You think that’ll work?”

“If it doesn’t, I’ll go give them proof myself.” Her smile blossoms and he softens, ruffling her hair affectionately.

The elevator doors open and Agnes is staring up at him like he’s the smartest man in the world and Ressler is staring at Liz like he’s just died inside. There’s a guy standing next to her, all wavy brown hair and stubbled jaw. Liz is laughing at something he’s saying, her dimples showing and the guy looks at her and Ressler _knows that look_.

And he also knows no one on this fucking planet should be looking at Liz like that and that’s the precise moment he realizes two things.

  1. He’s become insane
  2. That whole thing about their situation being okay?



Yeah…guess not.

“Mommy!” Agnes waves Liz down, tugging at Ressler to follow her.

“Agnes!” Liz’s smile widens and she opens her arms up for Agnes to fly into them. “Hey you.” she tilts her head at Ressler, “You okay?”

He swallows. The guy’s still watching them with the most obvious look of disappointment and Ressler kinda just wants to punch him in the face. “Yeah, fine. Let’s go, I’m starving.”

He strides past the guy, giving him a good glare before he puts a hand on the small of Liz’s back to guide her out, holding the door open for her. He’s about to follow them out when the guy taps him on the shoulder.

Ressler turns around, really hoping for a fight when the guy just rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Hey man. I just moved into the building and I don’t want one of my neighbours out for my blood you know? I’m sure your wife will tell you later, but I totally didn’t know she was with someone before I started hitting on her.”

He _what_.

“Pass along my apology to her too. I don’t want her feeling uncomfortable.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Ressler barely manages to get out, pushing past him feeling like he wants to just explode all over the concrete.

Liz is beautiful. She’s beautiful and beyond clever and wry and passionate and of course there were going to be guys lining up all around the block for a chance for just one date. Of course she would be pursued and wooed in all the ways she deserved and there was no way he could be witness to any of it.

Maybe they could have lived in their pretend make-belief world together for a little longer, but with reality pressing down on him from all sides, the possibilities of him being able to do that and not die on the inside were too impossible a feat. He couldn’t do this.

He just _can’t_.

Liz turns around, “Come on slow poke, I thought you were starving!”

Liz had never been one to shy away from anything she wanted. Not ever. When she wanted answers badly enough, she put the man she loved as a father in _prison_. This is the same woman who fought and lied and schemed her way to answers and to protect the people she loved most. If she wanted him…if she had ever wanted him…

Liz’s smile wavers as she looks at him.

If she loved him once or now or ever at all…wouldn’t she have told him? The same woman who had faked her death to be with her husband when the whole world told her it would be too dangerous to?

Why would she ever keep feelings as strong as those secret?

“Don?”

He smiles and every part of his heart is breaking. “Sorry, got distracted. You decided on which place? Or is it Agnes’ turn?” he ruffles her hair and lets his fingers slide through like a parting song.

Liz assesses him from the corner of her eye, falling into step with him. “Would it blow your mind if I said it’s your choice?”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s not sure if he ever really had any choice in all the seven years they’d known each other. And if he did, he can’t help but feel like he made all the wrong ones.

“Wow.” He whistles, “Lucky for you, I know a great place.”

He takes them to Liz’s favourite, and tries not to wish for more than he has.

* * *

“You seem under the weather Agent Ressler.” Red comments, brows raised curiously.

“Don’t start.” Ressler warns, no real heat to his words.

Red watches him with careful eyes over the desk where he and Aram are busy poring over suspect photos. “Trouble at home?” Red pushes, knowing full well the true depth of the question.

Ressler glares before he sighs, too tired to make a witty quip.

“Perhaps a change of scenery would do you some good.” Red suggests, hands clasped in front of him.

Ressler’s eyes flick up, “What do you mean?”

Red tilts his head, looking at him like he’s a marvel, “You know, it truly is amazing how fast you perk up at the hint of a case. Come on, let’s go pay Harold a visit.”

Aram catches Ressler’s stare and shrugs. So going in blind, Ressler finds himself in Cooper’s office, arms crossed like he has anything better to do.

“Harold, I need to borrow Agent Ressler for a couple days.”

Ressler blinks. “Days??”

“Well I can’t exactly have you popping up in Kazakhstan with the snap of my fingers can I?” Red asks like he’s seriously challenged.

Cooper’s mouth twitches, betraying the tiniest hint of amusement. “And what would you need one of my top agents for exactly?”

“To commit crimes of course.” Red chirps cheerily.

“ _No_.” Ressler stands from he’s leaning against the wall, looking at Cooper the way you might at a dad when your sibling wronged you and you needed avenging.

“Relax Donald, it won’t be a real crime.” Red waves him off, “Well, it _will_ be, but you’ll get a Blacklister out of it and isn’t that what we’re all here for?” He says with that perfect blend of condescension and mockery that makes him just want to throw his face into a pillow and groan for a million years.

“What? You need me to be the corrupt cop again?” He ventures a guess and his lips thin as Red brightens.

“Precisely!”

Giving up on Red, Ressler turns back to Cooper, “Sir?”

“Who exactly is the target?” Cooper asks, leaning back in his chair.

As it always did, the situation ends with Red dazzling his boss and convincing everyone that what he said was gospel- which is how he ends up back in the apartment with his phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear as he stuffs some shirts into a bag. “Yeah, he said it was urgent.” He answers, hesitating between taking another pair of pants or not.

“But why??” Liz demands, “And why only you?”

He stops, unable to help himself from poking fun, “What? Jealous Keen?”

She makes a derisive noise and he chuckles. “No. It’s just weird.” A pause, “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Couple days max. It’ll be fine. I just have to be a prop while he convinces another crime lord he’s a good business partner before we stab him in the back and take him in.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Be careful Don.”

“I’m always careful.” He replies easily, though they both know it really isn’t true.

“Look I gotta go, I think Dembe just pulled up, but tell Agnes I said bye.”

“She’s gonna miss you.”

He wants to ask if she will too but bites his tongue.

“I’m gonna miss her too.”

Liz sucks in a breath, “I’m g-”

But his heart can’t take any more and he cuts her off, swinging his zipped bag over his back, “Sorry Liz, I gotta go. Talk soon yeah?”

She seems disappointed when she says, “Yeah. Bye Don.” Before he hangs up and walks resolutely out of the apartment.

In the end (and Ressler _hates_ that he thinks, as usual), Red was right. He _did_ need a change of scenery. Somewhere to think about everything that had happened and everything he wanted and be removed from the situation enough he could look at it objectively. Turns out, nothing was quite better than the mountain air of a beautiful country he’d never been to before. The country strikes a balance with ancient monuments and streets that make you feel like you’ve wandered out of time with a burst of modernity and steel.

He hates to say it, but he even enjoys playing the part of the crooked agent. It’s almost a relief- to be someone he isn’t. To pretend he is anything but who he knows he can’t escape. And in the far reaches of this fantasy life, he knows he needs to make a decision and knows what the decision must be.

It might be because Red isn’t asking a thousand pointed questions and is mostly focused on getting him to loosen up that Ressler almost enjoys his company. They’re sitting at a café with some of the best tea Ressler’s ever had just looking out into the streets and he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a long time.

“No one ever just appreciates the silence anymore.” Red says out of the blue, looking lost in nostalgia.

Ressler takes a sip of his tea, raising an amused brow, “Says the guy talking.”

Red twists his lip, acknowledging the dig before moving on, “It’s an incredible thing, to be able to enjoy the moment with another person without feeling the need to spoil it with words.”

Ressler lets out a breath, reminded for an instant, about Red’s speech to him when they were trapped in the box. Of how moved he was. The man had a gift; even he could admit that.

“When you find a person you can talk for hours with without running out of things to say and have that same person be the one you want to be alone with when everything else goes wrong. Well,” Red laughs, smiling to himself, “that’s a special person indeed.”

Ressler looks at him from the corner of his eye, “You have someone like that?”

“A lifetime ago it seems like. In a more platonic sense, I always have Dembe. Though I could do without his superhuman boardgame ability.”

Ressler lets out an amused rumble, taking another sip of his tea.

“And how about you Donald?”

Red must be able to read his mind, because he just nods when Ressler doesn’t- _can’t_ \- say anything. “Odds are,” Red says, looking out into the crowd like seeing a mosaic of inspiration and miracles, “a person who makes you feel like that feels the same way about you too.”

“You can’t know that.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Red tilts his head at him, “Oh but I do.” And for the first time, he doesn’t elaborate with metaphors and anecdotes, just gives him a meaningful look and goes back to drinking his tea. “This is simply divine don’t you think? Reminds me of the time I was trapped in the basement of a tea shop in Bangladesh…”

And Ressler thinks this might be what it feels like right before a leap of faith. But it’s the uncertainty of the fall that grips him more than the hope for anything more does.

* * *

Feeling rejuvenated and more refreshed than he thought he’d be, Ressler flies back home with a certainty in his bones. The facts are clear: he’s in love with Liz, who might not love him back and even if she did, might not be ready for that kind of change in her life. It would be unfair to both of them if he kept on doing what he was doing; living with her pretending he was _living_ with her. And that it’d destroy him if he kept on doing it. Which brought the next certainty, this time, he’d have to leave for good. There would be no more excuses. No more bargains. No more laters and maybes. He was going back to the apartment and telling Liz straight up.

He’s feeling pretty confident up until Dembe and Red bring him right to the door and the dread starts to pool in his stomach. He nods at them, “Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.” He says, though he doesn’t really mean it.

Dembe kinda smiles at him, nodding his goodbye and Red doesn’t say much until he’s halfway out the door. “Donald.”

He stops, glancing back.

“Think about what I said.”

And Red’s said a lot of stuff, but he’s pretty sure he knows what he means.

Red wouldn’t let him take his real phone- just in case- so he hasn’t spoken to Liz since he left and he can’t even lie and say he didn’t miss her. He missed her perky morning voice she used to coax Agnes out of bed. He missed the dimples in her smile. He missed the way she gave him that look when he did something she thought was funny. He missed the way she always said “This smells so good!” when he put a dish out on the table.

He stands in front of Liz’s door and thinks how if he doesn’t cross it, things won’t have to change. But his bag is heavy on his back and he knows some things just can’t be put off, so he puts his key in the lock and turns.

The second he pushes the door open, he hears the pitter patter of feet and a yell of, “UNCLE DON!” before he’s being tackled.

He stumbles backwards, steadying himself quickly as he feels Agnes’ arms wrap tightly around him. “Uncle Don you’re back!!” her grin is wider than he’s ever seen it and she’s still hugging him as hard as she can.

“Hey little lady.” He smiles, trying to hug her back but failing with the height difference, “How’ve you been?”

“Good! It’s been boring since you weren’t here but I have so much to show you! I wrote three new stories and I’m gonna pick one to use for your storybook and guess what?” her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper and he bends down, intrigued.

“Mom _cooked_ today.”

His eyes widen. “Oh boy.”

“No, no.” she insists, “This time it’s _good_. She tried really hard and even called-”

“Agnes!” Liz bursts out from her bedroom, a slight flush on her face, “What are you telling him?”

“Nothing!!”

Ressler laughs, scooping her up and spinning her around as she giggles manically. “She was just telling me that there’s an amazing dinner waiting for me, right Agnes?”

She nods profusely and Liz just shakes her head, unable to help but soften. She walks past him into the kitchen, mixing something on the stove, “So, how was the trip? Any big shoot-outs? Master manipulations? Heists gone wrong?”

He sets Agnes down, leaning against the fridge as he watches her cook, “I’m flattered you think my life’s a James Bond movie, but it was pretty uneventful. If I’m honest, we mostly just sat around drinking tea.”

She glances at him, amusement clear in her features, “Sounds more like a vacation than a work trip.”

“Work hard, play hard.” He flashes her a crooked grin and he swears he sees a faint blush before she turns her back to him.

“Well I’m glad you’re all back in one piece.” And the tone is still light, but he hears the weight of her words.

“And how about you? You guys stay out of trouble?”

“No one became a wanted fugitive if that’s what you mean.” She jokes before calling Agnes to the dinner table.

And just like so many other nights, they sit and laugh and chat and Ressler feels like he has a family and feels even more certainly that what he needs to do is right.

“Thanks Liz, you blew us away with this one.” He says, gesturing to his empty plate.

“Pretty hard to mess up jambalaya.” She plays with a piece of her hair, looking at him through her lashes, “But thank you.”

“I-” he takes a breath, looking around to make sure Agnes was playing in the corner out of earshot, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Liz immediately stiffens. “What’s wrong? Is your addiction flaring up again?”

His eyes widen and his hands go up, “No, no, nothing like that. I promise.”

She stares at him, searching his face for lies but he hopes that by now she knows she won’t find any. “Okay, let’s talk.” She finally says.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I think…” he thinks he wants to stay here forever with her.

“I think it’s time I finally got out of your hair.”

Her brows furrow. “Did Red put you up to this?” She accuses.

He frowns, “No, we didn’t even talk about it. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I just think it’s time. It could be good for us.” He finishes lamely.

He can _see_ how she closes herself off to him, leaning slightly back and pulling her hands closer. “If that’s what’ll make you happy…”

“It’s time.” Is what he says instead of answering.

“Do you already have a place?” He doesn’t miss the way she won’t look him in the eye anymore.

“I’m going to call up that apartment from last time, it was a new place, they might still have openings. I’ll head out tonight though.”

Mostly because he’s too afraid if he doesn’t do it all in one shot he never will.

“Tonight?” she sounds shocked and he shrugs.

“Why delay the inevitable right?”

She doesn’t say anything, just gets up and starts stacking plates. “I guess you’ve made up your mind then.”

He wishes she wouldn’t make this so hard.

He nods at her, reaching to help carry stuff back to the sink but she pulls away, “It’s fine.” She says curtly, “You go pack. I’ll clean up.”

“But you cooked-”

“It’s fine Don.” She repeats and he feels like a wall has erupted between them and he doesn’t understand it anymore.

If she wanted something different. If she wanted something more. She would say it. He knows she would. So then why-

He heads to the room that was his for three months and just like he arrived, packs his things into a suitcase and a bag. He lugs his things out, expression dampening when Agnes bounds towards him. “You’re leaving?? But you just came back!”

“I know sweetie, but I have to.” His voice is low and soothing but it isn’t enough.

“Well when are you coming back?” she asks, frowning.

“I’m finally giving you your bedroom back Agnes,” he says, hoping to find the silver lining, “I’m getting my own apartment and when I officially move in, you can come and visit whenever you want.”

Agnes’ frown deepens and she looks more upset than before, “I don’t need my room. You can just stay!” She insists and he’s flashed right back to that first time.

“I’m sorry Agnes, but I-”

But she doesn’t want to hear it, just whirls around, running to Liz’s room and slamming the door. Ressler looks up at Liz helplessly and the situation is sad enough she takes pity on him. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to adjust.”

“I never should’ve come.” Ressler says, almost just to himself before he grabs his things again, “Well…I’ll see you Monday then. Thanks for everything Liz. I mean it.”

He’s so lacking it’s embarrassing.

She only looks at him for a second before she gives him a thin-lipped smile, “My door’s always open. We loved having you.”

They stand across from each other, awkward and strained until Ressler nods at her, “I left the keys on the front table when I came in. And Liz,” he looks back at the closed door, “let me know when she stops hating me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s only upset because she loves you.” She looks at him meaningfully and Ressler looks away.

“Well tell her I’ll take her out for ice cream for me.” And with those as his lacking last words, he walks out, and the door swings shut behind him.

* * *

Agnes stays upset for most of the day and Liz wishes she had the words to comfort her. Mostly, the day goes by like they’re stuck in a monotony and she finds herself alone on her couch, the clock ticking past 10:00 p.m.

She doesn’t know why she dials Red’s number. She just knows he’s the first person her sadness wants to be soothed by. Her hands move like she’s submerged in water and her heart feels caged and too vulnerable all at once. “Red?” she asks, trying to hide all the cracks.

“Something’s wrong.” He doesn’t even hesitate, “Where are you? Has something happened to Agnes? Agent Ressler?”

Yes something’s happened to them. Yes something terrible. The kind of heart crushing awful that just made you want to bury your face into a parent’s chest. For so long, the problems that tied her and Red were life-threatening and dangerous and drew in so many more people than she ever wanted. There were so few moments where she sought him out because all she wanted was just to have her dad. Or the closest thing anyway.

“Do you think you could stop by?”

He’s silent for a moment, “Of course Lizzie. I’ll always come.”

She knows that. It’s a constant she’s despised and appreciated and then somehow learned to love.

“I’ll be there in seventeen minutes.”

She doesn’t move from her spot on the couch until there’s a soft knock on the door. She trudges over, feeling entirely sapped of energy. Maybe she should throw open the lights, drown out the dark, but she can really only take two small lamps with a strange quality that makes everything feel almost like a dream.

The door opens slowly and Red takes one look at her before he frowns, “Oh Lizzie. I take it Donald isn’t here.”

She drops her head and his empathy for her is clear in the hand on her back and his gentle words, “Come on, tell me all about it.”

She collapses on the couch and pours her heart out while Red simply listens. “There’s something wrong with me. I know there is.” She doesn’t know if she’s begging for absolution or a hangman’s noose, but she doesn’t give Red a chance to serve his judgement, “I barely know what I want and when I do, I don’t know what to do about it and I always just end up hurting everyone around me.” Her fingers clench over her knees before she rubs at her temples, pained, “I’ve treated him so badly,” she whispers, choked and sorry, “I know I have.”

Red shakes his head but she refuses to look at him. “I get mad at him when he wants to leave even though I know he’s probably just trying to be nice because he knows I’m such a mess. And because he can’t tell if I want him or resent him and it’s not his fault I’m just-” she shakes her head, eyes locking onto something Red could never see, “Even after everything that’s happened…I just, I see his face. Like he’s always watching me.” Her voice is barely whisper, “And I feel like he’d hate me.”

In the silence, Tom’s absence echoes.

“I tried you know?” she says, eyes earnest, begging for him to believe her, “To keep him alive for Agnes, but she- of course she can’t remember anything and my stories for her are just that- stories. And now there’s a man, a man who’s always there and good and kind and now she’s started to rely on him and I- it just breaks my heart because I- I-” and finally, finally, the ocean she’s tried to hide with a single dam gushes out and her sob is painful as she hunches over, burying her face in her hands.

“Because you want to rely on that man too.” Red finishes, pulling on her shoulder gently until she’s in his arms, crying into his shoulder.

She cries until her body stops shaking and shaking and her lungs don’t need to gasp to breathe. She clings to Red, unable to move away. “I don’t know how to move forward without feeling like I’m betraying him.” She whispers.

And the confessions only keep pouring out. “I’ve spent all this time living in a pretend world and I know I’ve only hurt him and I- that’s the last thing I ever wanted. Ressler deserves better than all of this and if I wasn’t so stuck in my own problems, I could’ve given him the one thing he’s always wanted from me.” She closes her eyes, “For me to just be honest with him. About everything.”

Red’s hand rakes through her hair, a soothing pattern that echoes of Sam. “Lizzie,” he says, quiet, but incredibly certain, “you’re honouring nothing by keeping you and Agnes from being happy. Tom loved Agnes. And I’m sure she knows that, because you tell her.”

He pauses for a moment, looking out the window, “If you’re looking for permission Lizzie, you’re not going to find it from a dead man. Only you can do that.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I think you do.” He counters, “I think you need to allow yourself the possibility that you deserve happiness, that not everything around you falls apart, and that the people who want to be in your life choose to do so every day.”

“In the end, both you and Donald are trying to earn the right to love one another despite the fact that both of you have attained that goal so long ago it’s become part of who you both are. Neither you, nor he, have anything to prove Lizzie. You’re both allowed to just choose each other.” His voice drops, gentle like waves in low tide, “You can choose him.”

Liz presses her face harder against his shoulder, clenching her jaw like she was trying to hold back a cry.

“Both you and Agnes…neither of you will ever be poorer because you enriched your lives with more love. We don’t replace people in our hearts, they just expand to make more room.” His fingers are gentle through her hair, “Loving Donald will never mean either of you loved Tom any less. It just means you will have overcome great suffering through the only cure there is. And that you have become better because of it.”

* * *

The hotel Ressler stays in is nice all things considered. It’s clean and there’s an attractive smelling shampoo and the sheets are soft beneath him. He’s intending on staying there for a week maximum. With actual energy and dedication, he could find a new place in no time and he’s _far_ from unmotivated. With that thought, he turns on the TV- the silence too much for just right then- and settles in for the night.

The next morning is eerie. He’s used to Agnes giggling hysterically to herself at Saturday morning cartoons and the smell of toaster pancakes that she’d make for herself. He misses the extra strong coffee beans Liz always bought and the comfortable weekend routine they had shared.

But this is fine too.

He flips open his laptop, scrolling through listings, skimming all the descriptions and amenities lists. He tries to focus, but his mind drifts and he finds himself thinking about the story Agnes is going to choose for her book.

He shakes the thought away, opening several new listings into new tabs. He had committed. He had made up his mind. This was happening. It _is_ happening.

But it only takes another day for the dullness of the hotel room to eat at him. The thing with being happy is that you never really noticed how bright it was until you put out the light. And he knew he loved Liz- that’s why he was even in this whole mess- but he didn’t realize how acutely he would feel the loss of them all together as a _family_.

He wanted to take Agnes to the bookstore and buy her every novel she wanted. He wanted to stress with Liz over the best high schools. He wanted to pick up a basket of her favourite baked goods for Mother’s Day and help Agnes surprise her. He wanted to wake up with Liz every morning and kiss her hello and he wanted to tell her he loved her every day he could.

The loneliness of being alone again is so jarring he realizes that the sharp edges that had protected him all this time had been weathered by a love so gentle he had never even noticed. His vulnerabilities are open for the whole world and he knows that if this was going to be his life from now on, he might as well throw everything he had into trying to get that future he so desperately wanted.

How could he go back to living a life like this when he’s had everything he’s ever wanted cupped right into the palm of his hands. He can’t let them go. He doesn’t want to. Throughout the entirety of their relationship, Ressler’s let Liz lead the way, letting her set how far they would go, what boundaries they would cross. It was too much for him to ask that he demand she do this too.

He thinks back to what Red had told him. Maybe she just needed to hear him say it to know she felt the same way. Maybe she just needed that One Moment for everything to click into place. Or maybe she would take a chance on him and he would do everything he could- he’d move heaven and earth and the entire Milky Way- to make it work.

How much time had they wasted with maybes and what-ifs? There’d been so many moments where he thought something could’ve happened between them. So many chances for lost happiness. So much they missed and so much they could have gained.

And before he can stop to think about it, he’s grabbing his bags- still unpacked- and rushing out of the room. He hails a cab, giving the driver an address he could walk to blindfolded and waits. When he gets to the building, he’s lucky someone else is going in and he slips in behind them, rushing to the elevator.

The ride is only forty seconds, but it lasts a lifetime before it opens and he walks over to Liz’s door like he’s drawn by a force more powerful than he can control. He sets his bag down next to his suitcase, and takes in a breath, hand raised to knock when the door swings open and Liz stares at him open-mouthed. “Don?”

She looks shocked to see him and he wonders how she knew he was there when he notices her coat. “You’re going out?” he asks stupidly, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

“I-” the surprise melts off her face and she almost looks like she wants to laugh, “I was going to see you actually.”

He blinks, “Me?”

“You.” She confirms, “But you found me first.”

He nods slowly, still trying to process everything. “Why’d you come Don?” she asks softly and he has a feeling that whatever he says now will follow their relationship forever.

But what he wants to say is pretty simple. And it’s honest and true and what he wants more than anything.

Why’d he come?

Easy.

“I came because I love you.”

Liz’s eyes widen while his only become more genuine. “I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t believe it took me this long to realize it. So when I did, I thought I had to leave because I was way too close to what I wanted but thought I couldn’t have.”

He captures her gaze with his, earnest and sincere. “But I had to come back because I don’t want to leave. I want to be with you and be there for Agnes for as long as you’ll have me. So I came back to tell you that I want to stay.”

He swallows, his heart unprotected, bare and afraid. He’s not jagged anymore. And he hopes desperately she will cup him in her palms and protect him instead.

“Can I stay?”

And Liz is looking at him with shiny eyes and a heartfelt expression that makes his chest squeeze. “You’re such a _dipstick_.” Her laugh is watery and he wants to defend himself before she’s in his arms and her lips are pressed against his with the intensity of everything that was ever good and beautiful.

He doesn’t even hesitate before he wraps his arms around her, pressing every inch of her close, kissing her as deeply as he could. She tastes like home and a future and everything he’s ever wanted. And when she pulls away, he tightens his hold, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m hoping that’s a yes.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before capturing her lips again.

“It’s a very enthusiastic yes.” Liz murmurs, her breath ghosting over his lips, “I never wanted you to go in the first place. I thought I was being so obvious you know?” she laughs wryly, regrets in the echoes, “How moon-eyed you make me. I could’ve yelled it from the roof-tops honestly. It got so overwhelming that I thought any day now, you’d smile at me and I’d just blurt out an embarrassing I love you right then and there.”

“I wish you had. Would’ve made me feel better.” He jokes but her expression drops.

She pulls back, gaze grazing over his lips before she pulls away, looking sorry. “I should’ve told you about- well, everything.” She says, taking a step back so he can come in.

She closes the door behind him, wringing her hands before looking at him head-on, “Throughout everything, you’ve always been there. _Always_.” Her lip trembles for just a moment and the urge to sweep her up into his arms is almost too much to bear, “I’ve asked so much from you Don. I’ve asked you to lie and to hide and to put your life at risk for me and you’ve never, _ever_ , let me down. And I just-” her voice breaks, “I felt like I couldn’t ask you for more. Not when I don’t even deserve all the rest.”

It occurs to him then, how blind they’d both been. How unbelievable it is that the person you spent the most time looking at it could be your only blind spot. 

“Hey.” he says softly, reaching for her. He holds her close, cradling her head so she feels as precious as she is, “Everything I’ve done I always felt like it was right. Because it was you. Because it was us.” He keeps his hold on her but steps back so he can face her, “Because I know that if things were different, I could count on you too.”

He brushes her hair out of her eyes, letting his finger trace the curve of her cheek, “And honestly, the more I stand here, the more I’m kicking myself for not toughening up and telling you sooner. I was worried you weren’t ready- that…you wouldn’t someone new in Agnes’ life.”

His meaning is clear and he sees it in the dawn of understanding in Liz’s eyes. “You know, Red told me something once. He told me that Tom wasn’t here anymore and that I needed to look forward to the future. That my life should be bigger than just this.” She smiles and he sees now, that where there once was grief was now a shy hope waiting to break into the sky, “I’ll admit that I…it made me feel like I was a bad wife.” She looks away, “Feeling happy that Agnes was happy she had someone like you in her life. I felt like I couldn’t move forward without erasing Tom.”

“Liz I would _never-_ ”

She smiles, pressing two fingers against his mouth like a feather’s touch. “I know. And you’d think I’d be the one who knew that best. Having more than two parents doesn’t make the love you feel for them all any less real.” Her lips curl up wryly, “I mean, just look at me.”

He smiles behind her fingers and she draws away, moving to hold both his hands in her own, “You’re so perfect with her. And she adores you. There’s no one else in the world I’d want to be part of our family. I told Red I agreed that my world needed to be bigger, but I don’t want anyone but you. So…if you want to join this mess…” She offers, voice steady.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I want to. There’s no one else for me but you.”

She almost glows. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She giggles nervously, looking scared and excited all at once, “I guess we’re really doing this.”

His lip turns up, “I guess we are.”

And he takes them back to what they started, kissing slowly and tenderly, content to take their time. Just like they always had. Just like he knows they always will. And when he carries her in his arms and takes them to her bedroom, Liz holds his face like he is the sun and tells him she loves him more than she knows what to do with. He makes her see stars with every promise he kisses against her skin, every oath to her in each of his caresses. He makes her the centre of his entire world and they both come undone within each other.

Their love was hard-won and built on an impenetrable foundation of trust and care and they had nothing to fear. Everything that had happened to them and for them had just been the exposition to their epic climax and Ressler knows their ending will only be sweeter.

“I’m going to make you happy.” He promises against her lips as they collapse into the sheets.

She shakes her head, curling into him, “Happier than this? Not possible.” He tightens his arms around her and she smiles, “But we have our whole lives for you to prove me wrong.” And all he can do is laugh into her neck and glow at the promise of forever. 

* * *

They’re not really keeping it a secret, the whole them being in a relationship thing. Everyone’s pretty ecstatic about it though- Aram most of all. He keeps saying that he’s known it all along and Ressler can deal with the teasing, but it’s the heartfelt assertions that they deserved this happiness after so long that gets him.

He prefers Samar’s approach, she crosses her arms and juts out her chin at him, “So you finally did it. Took you long enough.”

“You’re one to talk.” He shoots back, but there isn’t much bite and she just makes a face.

“I’m happy for you two.” She says, and her expression’s soft and he gives her a small smile before it drops when she gives a sigh, “You know this means we’re going to be on a lot of double dates right?”

He blinks, before he turns to see Liz and Aram conspiring in the corner, grins wider than he’s ever seen.

“Oh _Jesus_.”

But in the end, all he and Samar do is laugh.

All in all, things fall perfectly into place. They have a routine, things are good, their partnership at work stays the same. It’s more than good.

And then Reddington happens.

He’s more or less kidnapped, but he doesn’t know if it counts if you knew your captor and also knew that you’d be returned in probably in hour. Less maybe, if Red didn’t want to dawdle. “Donald!” he greets as he opens the car door from the inside with a wide smile.

Ressler sighs, “Let’s get this over with.”

He slides into the backseat and Dembe gives him a nod through the rear-view mirror. “Congratulations Agent Ressler. I wish you and Elizabeth a lifetime of happiness.”

He can’t help but be touched, “Thanks Dembe. Appreciate it.”

He turns to Reddington, giving him a look, “Does Dembe’s approval mean we get to skip the shovel talk? Or do you still want to check that off your bucket list?”

Reddington’s laugh is hearty as he shakes his head, “Oh goodness no. Lizzie’s much too old for me to be doing that.”

“I heard Tom got a talking to.” Ressler counters.

“Yes well, those were exceptional circumstances.” The façade drops and his expression doesn’t harden necessarily, but there’s a somber quality, as though responsibility left shadows, “I don’t need to give you the shovel talk because you’ve already proven to be an irreplaceable friend. You and the taskforce…” Red breaks off, looking out into the window.

“When I entered her life…I knew it would be difficult. That she could be hunted or victimized, thrust into a position she never wanted. But you,” he looks back at him, and the sincerity of his gratitude makes his chest clench, “you and the rest of the team…Samar, Aram, Harold...you’ve been her family for too long for me to disrespect it by insinuating anything but.”

Ressler leans back, only slightly bemused.

“So no, Donald, I’m not going to give you the whole speech about what I expect from you as her partner because what could I ask you to prove that you haven’t already done?” he lets out a rough laugh, “It’s easy in our line of work- easy to say that we’ll kill and steal and stop at nothing to protect the ones we love.” Red pauses, looking at him meaningfully, “It’s so much harder to just be honest with them. And you’ve always been honest with her. And _that_ is something far too rare to be careless with.”

Ressler doesn’t quite know what to say. Mostly, he’s a little overwhelmed- not perhaps by the words Red says to him, but the sincere fervor behind them.

“I never knew you thought so highly of me.” He jokes, trying to lighten the tension.

Red scoffs, “Now isn’t the time to be fishing for compliments. I meant what I said in that courtroom. You’re just lucky the good parts outweigh the bad.”

Ressler lets out an amused breath. “For the record,” he says, feeling an odd obligation to say it, “She sees you as family too. And if I’m going to be part of that, then I guess that makes us stuck with each other.”

Red’s lip flicks up, “Could be worse.”

“Worse than the fourth most wanted?”

“I’m still working my way to number one, don’t fret just yet.”

Ressler shakes his head, unable to help the laugh that escapes him.

“Anyway, I thought we could stop by for some tea, I found a delightful little café that serves the exact kind we had in our lovely little expedition in Kazakhstan.”

So perhaps the hour melts away into two and perhaps a part of him will always hate the notorious Raymond Reddington, but after seven years…at some point he became just Red. A man he could count on to be infuriating and irreverent of the law and flippant beyond belief. But also a man you could rely on when your back was to the wall, a man who’d stop at nothing to protect the ones he cared about and a man who, at his core, had that rare quality of endearing him to just about anyone.

So Ressler sits and drinks tea with the man whose capture had consumed his entire life at one point and thinks about how grey the world really is and how strange it was that love could repaint even the most terrible of histories. 

* * *

Maybe someone who didn’t know them would think they moved too fast. But there’s something inevitable about the way he moves his things into Liz’s room and the ease in throwing a lazy arm over her sleeping form. It’s a seamless transition from a one-dimensional interpretation of partnership to something that encompasses every part of their life. A sense of completeness that makes him feel like everything had unfolded the exact way it was supposed to.

One year later, and he feels just as enamoured as when it all started. He wakes up to Liz staring at him, her hair sticking up around the pillow, her lips pink and ready to be kissed. “Morning Keen.” He greets and her smile grows at the nickname.

“Morning Don.” She leans forward, kissing him in what he’s sure was intended to be chaste but devolves into something anything but.

He curls an arm underneath her, rolling her over until she’s on top of him and she’s giggling into his mouth, his hands tracing down the slope of her back. “As excited as I am to repeat last night, we should get ready.” She says, still not pulling away.

“Or,” he counters, peppering kisses down her neck, “we can multitask.”

Which is how they find themselves in the shower, stifling their laughter to keep from waking Agnes up. He gets out first, flushed and grinning. He turns the coffee machine on, stepping back into their bedroom to get dressed before waking Agnes up. “Hey kiddo, time for school.”

She rubs her eyes, nodding sleepily. He ruffles her hair, stepping out in time to see Liz wrapped in a towel, make-up on. “ _No_.” she laughs, pointing an accusatory finger, “We have work.”

“And they say I’m the stick in the mud.” He teases, pouring them out the coffee in two mugs, “Come on, we still have time to eat.”

But Agnes can’t find her schoolbook and Ressler has trouble with keeping his briefcase shut from how much he stuffs in it and they all end up munching on some toast in the car. Agnes rushes out, giving them a hurried “Bye! Love you!” and like every morning, Ressler waves and says, “Love you too.” While Liz’s smile brightens.

He weaves in and out of traffic, Liz looking mildly exasperated, “I’d almost rather fake sick then walk in late.”

Ressler snorts, pulling into the parking lot like a race car driver. “I can deal with Cooper, it’s Samar smirking from her desk that gets me.”

Liz is still laughing as they sprint to the entrance and both of them pat down their hair and adjust their clothes in a panic on the elevator ride down. Liz retouches her lipstick and Ressler’s worried his hair looks a little funny and he wishes he woke up just ten minutes earlier but, of all the routines he’s ever had- this is his favourite. Of that he has no doubt. And when the doors ping open, they look picture-perfect and Cooper gives them a wry smile, Samar and Aram behind him. Behind them, Red steps out from the shadows, and Ressler knows today will be anything but dull, “Right on schedule agents.” Red smiles, “I have a case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this whole idea of making an epilogue of vignettes from now to late in their lives but I feel like that's just dragging out something that's already done?? idk but, thank you to everyone who's read this fic, left kudos, and commented- it means the world to me!
> 
> I'm so happy I fell into this fandom and I hope I get hit with some more inspo because I just absolutely love these two.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let the fluff of the first chapter fool you. We're in for the angst train at our next stop featuring some advanced interrogation, the reappearance of some much hated pills, and some tears. But! At least there'll be Christmas joy too.


End file.
